


Hearts Like Lions

by anotherroguetrevelyan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Pining, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 115,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherroguetrevelyan/pseuds/anotherroguetrevelyan
Summary: “Trust me when I say we need to watch her, Curly. I’ve seen firsthand what this world does to heroes.”When Evelyn survives the explosion at the Conclave, she never expected to become the Herald of Andraste. Perhaps even more surprising is her developing relationship with the Inquisition's Commander.This story begins in Haven, and will follow through Trespasser. This fic covers a lot over many chapters, so I put TWs at the top of individual chapters when needed.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Rogue Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford/Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 96
Kudos: 140





	1. Awaking in Haven

The first thing Evelyn noticed as she stepped from the cabin were the whispers.

“That’s her!”

“That’s the Herald.”

“I heard she’s a Marcher. A Bann’s daughter.”

“The Divine called to her.”

“Andraste herself pulled her from the Fade!”

Evelyn made her way through the onlookers to Haven’s Chantry. She could hear an argument from the far end of the old building.

“Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial!” Chancellor Roderick ordered as she entered the back room.

“Disregard that. And leave us,” the Seeker retorted. The guards that had stood behind Evelyn left, closing the door behind them. 

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

“The breach is stable but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

“I did everything I could to close the breach. It almost killed me.” Evelyn had grown tired of people discussing her like she wasn’t there. While it seemed the Seeker no longer considered her a suspect, the Chancellor would be harder to convince.

“And yet, you live. A convenient result insofar as you’re concerned,” he spat.

“Would you have me apologize for not dying?”

“Have a care, Chancellor. The breach is not the only threat we face,” the Seeker intervened.

“Someone was behind the explosion at the conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others. Or, have allies who yet live.” Only when she spoke did Evelyn notice the Left Hand in the room. She had been quiet thus far. 

“ _I_ am a suspect?” the Chancellor asked.

“ _You_. And many others.”

“But not the prisoner?”

“I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to her for help.” the Seeker studied Evelyn, as though an answer could be found on her person. 

“So her survival, that _thing_ on her hand, all a coincidence?”

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide,” Evelyn muttered, incredulous. Did they think her some kind of chosen one? 

“We lost everything. Then, out of nowhere, you came.”

“The breach remains and your mark is our only hope of closing it,” Leliana added.

“This is not for you to decide!” the Chancellor protested.

“You know what this is, Chancellor?” The Seeker slammed a large book onto the table, adorned with the symbol of the Sunburst Throne. “A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” The Chancellor looked as though he wished to protest, but the Seeker backed him into the wall and dug her forefinger into his chest. “We will close the breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval!”

The Chancellor stormed out, slamming the large wooden door behind him. 

“This is the Divine’s directive,” the Left Hand began. “Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.” 

“But we have no choice. We must act now. With you at our side.” The Seeker said, turning to Evelyn.

Evelyn studied the women. Both held a determination she found admirable, and the weight from the loss of the Divine. She couldn’t imagine the grief the Right and Left hands had endured, nor the guilt that came with it. 

_But if the Maker has turned from us, why do we love him?_

The question was one her younger self had once asked her mother, who had spent countless hours educating her children in the Chant, and countless more in the Chantry. 

_The Maker’s light guides us when all else is lost. As long as you follow it, you will find your way._

It seemed Evelyn’s choices now were to follow the Maker’s light, or face execution. Her mother had left out that particular detail.

“If you’re truly trying to restore order…” she said at last.

“That is the plan,” the Left Hand confirmed.

“Help us fix this before it’s too late.” 

Evelyn shook the Seeker’s hand. It was the first time she saw her smile.

***

It wasn’t until her next meeting that Evelyn began to realize the full extent of the situation. 

“Does it trouble you?” the Seeker - Cassandra, she had said - asked. Evelyn stretched and closed her fingers. 

“It’s stopped spreading, and it doesn’t hurt.” 

“We take our victories where we can.” They walked through the Chantry toward the room they had met in the day before. “What’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes that a second attempt might succeed - provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

“Clearly you have something in mind.”

“We do.”

Cassandra led the way into the back room. The Left hand was once again present, as well as two new faces.

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through,” the Commander said. Did he just…? Surely the look he had given her was not what she thought it was. She could have sworn he had just given her a once over, but it had happened so quickly she couldn’t be sure. Although she _was_ the woman held prisoner for blowing up the Conclave and surviving with a glowing green mark on her hand that could seal rifts. Perhaps in his position she’d do the same. 

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat,” Cassandra continued.

“I’ve heard much. A pleasure to meet you at last.”

“And of course you know Sister Leliana.”

“My position here involves a degree of…”

“She is our spymaster.”

“Yes. _Tactfully_ put, Cassandra.”

“Pleased to meet you all,” Evelyn said with the noble charm that would make her mother proud.

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the breach for good,” Cassandra said.

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana concluded.

“And I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well,” Cullen countered. Clearly the topic had already been debated.

“We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark-”

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the breach, weaken it so-”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana interrupted. A smile tugged at Evelyn’s lip. 

“ _I_ was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition - and you, specifically,” she said to Evelyn, sheepishly.

“That didn’t take long,” Evelyn said. Having been raised in the Chantry, its reaction was no surprise to her.

“Shouldn’t they be busy arguing over who’s going to become Divine?” Cullen asked.

“Some are calling you the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry,” Josephine continued. Cassandra sighed.

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt.”

“It limits our options. Approaching the mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question.”

“Just how am I the ‘Herald of Andraste?’” Evelyn asked. It seemed only moments ago the people were calling for her head. Now she was the Herald of the Maker’s Bride?

“People saw what you did at the temple, how you stopped the breach from growing,” Cassandra explained. “They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe it was Andraste.”

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading-” Leliana interjected.

“Which we have not.”

“The point is, everyone is talking about you.”

“It’s quite a title, isn’t it?” the Commander asked good naturedly. “How do you feel about that?”

How _did_ she feel about it? Could they be right? Evelyn had no better explanation. Every time she tried to remember the events of the conclave, nothing came from it except a sharp headache. She hadn’t any idea who the woman was. Was it possible that it really _had_ been Andraste? 

“It’s… a little unsettling,” she admitted. Cullen smiled supportively.

“I’m sure the Chantry would agree.” 

“People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you’re that sign,” Leliana said.

“And to others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong,” Josephine added. 

“They aren’t more concerned about the breach? The real threat?” Evelyn asked. 

“They do know that it is a threat, they just don’t think we can stop it,” Cullen responded.

“The Chantry is telling everyone that you’ll make it worse.”

“There _is_ something you can do. A Chantry Cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable,” Leliana suggested.

“I’ll see what she has to say,” Evelyn agreed. It seemed as good a place to start as any. 

“You’ll find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.”

“Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you’re there.” 

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them.”

“In the meantime, let’s think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.” 

_The Herald._

Maker, what had she gotten herself into?

***

Preparations to leave for the Hinterlands began immediately. Evelyn would be heading out with Varric, Cassandra, and Solas, while Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana continued the work in Haven. When she wasn’t preparing for their trip, Evelyn had decided to wander the little village, hoping to get to know the people of the Inquisition. 

She hadn’t been prepared for their reactions. Flissa, who tended the Tavern, had turned into a rambling mess when she had stopped in. She heard whispers behind her wherever she went. It seemed the only one who hadn’t recognized her right away was Threnn, the quartermaster, who asked her to collect supplies on her journey to help complete some of the many requisition lists. Likewise, the apothecary needed assistance as well. She had managed to find his missing notes in a cabin hidden by the lake, and was on her way to return them when she stopped to observe the training yard. 

Cullen and his lieutenant stood amongst the training recruits. The Commander seemed comfortable with the soldiers. He stood taller now, and his actions held a confidence that Evelyn found impressive. He certainly wasn’t hard to look at, either. 

Had that been interest she had detected during their meeting in the Chantry? She could have sworn there was something in that glance across the war table. It wasn’t the first time a man had looked at her in such a way, but Evelyn had a feeling the Commander was not so bold as the men she normally encountered among the nobility. Her mother always said it was a gentleman’s job to be bold with his affections, and a lady’s to wait for such a gesture. 

Well, it was a good thing her mother wasn’t here. 

“You there! There's a shield in your hand. Block with it! If this man were your enemy, you'd be dead,” Cullen barked at a recruit before turning to his lieutenant. “Lieutenant, don't hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.”

“Yes, Commander.” 

Evelyn approached as the lieutenant left to work with the recruits. 

“We’ve received a number of recruits - locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None made _quite_ the entrance you did,” the Commander smiled. 

“At least I got everyone’s attention.” She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. It was a bright, beautiful day in Haven, though the cold mountain air still brought out the pink of her nose and cheeks.

“That you did.” He gestured for her to follow as he began to wander through the recruits.

“I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising - I saw firsthand the devastation it caused.” A soldier handed him a report as they continued. Evelyn got the impression that the Commander never stopped working. “Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.” He glanced down at the report.

“You left the Templars for this. You believe the Inquisition can work?” Evelyn asked. It was no small thing to leave the organization. 

“I do. The Chantry lost control of both the Templars and the mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There’s so much we can - forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

On the contrary, Evelyn had been enjoying his impassioned speech. She was unsure of many things, but it was becoming clear to her that the Inquisition’s leaders were people who truly cared. 

“No, but if you have one prepared I’d love to hear it,” she teased. The Commander laughed. 

“Another time, perhaps.” Evelyn smiled at him, and he in return. “I… ah… there’s still a lot of work ahead,” he said awkwardly. 

“Commander! Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines,” a soldier interrupted.

“As I was saying,” Cullen’s demeanor shifted drastically. The soldier’s confidence returned, and he shot her a cheeky grin as he turned to go.

Evelyn watched after him as he returned to work. The afternoon sunlight brought out his golden hair and eyes, and she couldn’t help but wonder at the origin of the scar on his lip.

What had just happened? Had she just flirted with the Commander? Had he just flirted with _her_? 

Evelyn shook her head as she made her way back through the recruits and up the stairs, toward the apothecary. She could have sworn she felt a pair of eyes on her as she reached the top of the steps, but when she turned, the Commander had his face buried deep within a report. 

  
  



	2. A Night in the Tavern

Cullen knew he was in trouble the moment she walked in the room. 

Cassandra had filled him in on the basic details. The prisoner from the temple had joined them willingly. The glowing mark upon her hand seemed to be stable. And lastly, that she was a noblewoman from House Trevelyan of Ostwick. 

Whatever he had expected when she had entered, it wasn’t that she was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her eyes were the brightest, most striking shade of blue, and her brown hair fell just past her shoulders. She wore simple leather scout armor, and while she carried herself in the way of the nobility, he found she lacked the haughty expression he had come to expect from them. He hoped she hadn’t noticed how obviously he had looked her over upon their first meeting, and mentally chastised himself for it. 

When he had spoken with her in the training yard, he had rambled like a fool, discussing his thoughts and plans for the Inquisition. She had surprised him when she encouraged him. Lady Trevelyan was certainly not like the nobles he had met in Kirkwall. She was warm, friendly, pragmatic. He had been thankful when his soldier interrupted them just so that he could have an excuse to stop making a fool of himself - a chance he almost ruined when she nearly caught him watching her leave. 

Evening had settled in now, and the Herald and her party were set to leave for the Hinterlands tomorrow afternoon, allowing for some last minute business to be completed in the morning before they left. Cullen wandered through Haven. He enjoyed a walk in the evening before he settled in for bed. It helped him to mull over the events of the day and prepare for tomorrow’s tasks. As he passed the tavern, it seemed two members of the Inquisition were not intending to settle in any time soon.

“And then, as the Duke fell from the cliff, Hawke turned to us, still covered in blood from the battle, and said, ‘It looks like the Duke… has fallen from grace.’” 

“You can’t be serious! There’s no way she actually said that,” he heard the Herald laugh. 

“I couldn’t make this up if I tried. The Champion has quite the sense of humor,” Varric said. Cullen tried to slip past, but the dwarf caught sight of him before he could escape. “Hey, Curly! Come join us, I’ll buy you a pint!” 

“Varric, that’s really not necessary…”

“I beg to differ. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more in need of a drink than you. Except maybe the Seeker, but we aren’t exactly on great terms. Flissa, would you mind grabbing the Commander a drink?” Varric slid some coin across the bar, and Flissa quickly supplied him with another mug. Cullen sighed and joined them. 

“Curly and I go way back, don’t we, Curly?” 

“That’s one way to put it,” Cullen said. Discussing Kirkwall was not what he’d had in mind for the evening.

“Varric, I’m afraid you’ve lost me,” the Herald said. “I know Cassandra is ‘Seeker,’ Sister Leliana is ‘Nightingale,’ and Ambassador Montilyet is ‘Ruffles,’ but how is the Commander ‘Curly?’” Cullen glared at the dwarf, but it did nothing to dissuade him. 

“You should have seen him in Kirkwall. Don’t let that stylish hairstyle fool you, Herald, the Commander has a full head of golden curls. I can’t imagine how long it takes him to fix it like that in the morning.” The Herald grinned at Cullen.

“Do you really? I’d love to see it sometime.” They held each other’s gaze for a moment before she realized what she had said, and averted her eyes. “The curls, I mean. Not your morning hair. Not that… nevermind. Forget I said anything.” Varric chuckled.

“Oh no, I’m not getting in the middle of this. I’m heading to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow, Herald. Curly.” He nodded to each of them as he left, leaving Cullen and Lady Trevelyan to themselves. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment before the Herald finally broke it.

“Are you satisfied with the Inquisition's forces?” she asked casually. Thank the Maker it was a topic he could discuss without making a complete idiot out of himself. 

“Our numbers are small, but they serve our needs for the time being. Some Templars have joined us instead of following the Order. They’ve proven invaluable in training the new recruits.” 

“I’m surprised with how many have left the Order. The Templars have served the Chantry for ages. Though perhaps I shouldn’t be. My brother left the Order himself.”

“Your brother was a Templar?” Cullen asked. 

“He was. He served the Chantry in Ostwick. After what happened in Kirkwall… well, you know.”

“I do.” Cullen knew all too well. Kirkwall had been the reason he had left himself. His greatest regret was that he hadn’t seen the Order for what it was sooner. Once news had reached other parts of Thedas, many Templars chose to remove themselves from the organization. 

“I’d like to know more about Templar life,” she said. She leaned an elbow on the bar and rested her head in her hand. She looked lovely in the dim firelight of the tavern.

“I’m not sure I can tell you anything more than your brother has, Lady Trevelyan, but I will try to answer as best I can.” 

“Evelyn. Please,” she smiled. “We’re going to be working together for a while, I think it’d be best if things weren’t so formal.” Cullen returned her smile.

“Alright, Evelyn, what do you wish to know?”

“Why did you join the order?” She asked with such earnest interest, and Cullen wasn’t sure what to make of it. The Herald… _Evelyn_ … had a way of making people know they had her full attention.

“I could think of no better calling than to help protect those in need,” he sighed. “I grew up in Honnleath. I used to beg the Templars at our local Chantry to teach me. At first they merely humored me, but I must have shown promise. Or at least a willingness to learn. The Knight-Captain spoke to my parents on my behalf. They agreed to send me for training. I was thirteen when I left home.”

“That’s about when Rowan left too. Of course, he remained in Ostwick, and my family was so involved in the Chantry that I still saw him frequently. It must have been different for you.” 

“It was. I didn’t see my family much, and I wasn’t even the youngest there. Some children are promised to the order at infancy. Still, I didn’t take on full responsibility until I was eighteen. The Order sees you trained and educated first.”

“And your family? Did you miss them?” She circled her finger around the rim of her mug.

“Of course. But there were many my age who felt the same. We learned to look out for one another.” 

“I’m glad to hear it. Rowan never told me much about it. I assumed he didn’t want me to worry. He was stationed in the Ostwick Circle for a time. You’ve lived in the Circle before? What was a typical day like?” 

“Typical? The last time I was in a Circle was right before it fell apart. Nothing was typical.”

“Before that, then.”

“Certain rituals require a full guard. A mage’s harrowing, for instance. I’ve attended a few. Most of the time you merely maintain a presence - on patrol or in the Circle. Ready to respond if needed. Mages pretend to ignore that presence, but they’re watching you just as closely.”

“A mage’s harrowing?” Evelyn asked. “Rowan mentioned it once, but refused to tell me about it. I never did get an explanation.”

“It’s… not for the faint of heart.” Cullen ran a hand through his hair and stared into his mug. He had once been proud to be a Templar, but memories such as these made him ashamed.

“Do I look like the faint of heart to you?” Evelyn asked. She leaned a bit closer, and Cullen fidgeted nervously.

“Truthfully, I’m not sure what to make of you,” he admitted. “But I’m sure ‘faint of heart’ does not suit you.” 

“Please, Commander. Will you tell me?” How could he not concede, when she looked up at him like that?

“Cullen. If I am to call you Evelyn, then please call me Cullen.” She smiled encouragingly.

“Is that a yes, Cullen?”

“The harrowing… is a test every mage apprentice undertakes in order to become a full member of the Circle of Magi. It is kept a secret from them, and the other Enchanters decide when an apprentice is ready. When the time comes, they are taken without warning to begin the rite. They are to enter the Fade and face a demon, summoned by other mages.The apprentice must see through the demon’s tricks and resist possession. It is a test of will. Should they pass, they become a full member of the Circle.”

“And if they don’t?” Cullen sighed.

“Before each harrowing, one Templar is designated to kill the apprentice if they fail. Only the Templars know who that person is. I have been the designated Templar once. I’m thankful that the mage passed.”

“That’s terrible! Those mages would likely never come into contact with a demon if they hadn’t been forced to! How can the Chantry justify such a thing?” Evelyn’s brow furrowed in anger. Cullen felt his usual shame tenfold.

“There are many reasons I left the Order. While the events in Kirkwall were the final straw for me, there were too many terrible things happening for me to condone it any longer. I’ve seen the worst of both Templars and mages. I admit I’m still wary of misused magic. There were horrors I have no wish to talk about. I’m not proud of the man I was within the Order. I just hope I can be a better man in the Inquisition.” 

“I think what you’re doing now is wonderful. It’s hard to leave all you’ve known. And especially hard to recognize problems from the inside. It can’t have been easy. I appreciate your honesty.” 

“You’re too kind. I’m not sure I deserve it.” 

“An effort to change always deserves it.” 

Cullen couldn’t believe her kindness. When she had asked of the harrowing, he had expected to be reprimanded at best. He certainly would have deserved it, but Evelyn had shown an understanding he had not expected.

“Was your training similar to what you’re doing with the recruits?” she asked. Cullen was thankful for the change of subject.

“Sort of. Templars learn weapon and combat training, which is what I’m teaching the recruits. Even without their abilities, Templars are among the best warriors in Thedas. But initiates to the Order must also memorize portions of the Chant of Light, study history, and improve mental focus. “

“Did you enjoy it? Your training?” 

“I wanted to learn everything. If I was giving my life to this, I wanted to be the best Templar that I could be.”

“You were a model student,” Evelyn teased. Cullen chuckled.

“I wanted to be. I wasn’t always successful. Watching a candle burn down while reciting the Chant of Transfiguration wasn’t the most exciting task. I admit, my mind sometimes wandered.”

“‘These truths the Maker has revealed to me: As there is but one world, One life, one death…’” Evelyn recited. Cullen joined in with her as they finished, “there is But one god, and He is our Maker. They are sinners, who have given their love To false gods.’”

“I see I wasn’t alone in that particular torment,” Cullen laughed.

“House Trevelyan is so deeply intertwined with the Chantry, my mother used to force us to memorize parts of the Chant. I always used to get in trouble for getting it wrong. My brother started challenging me to contests to see who could say it faster. He made it into a game to help me learn. Without his help, I would have been in constant trouble. And whether I like it or not, I’ve got quite a bit still memorized to this day.”

“You and your brother were close?” Cullen asked.

“We still are. Though this situation with the breach will keep me away for a while,” she sipped at her drink primly. “Rowan and I were terrors, but after getting in enough trouble we just became sneakier. I swear that was the foundation of my rogue training,” Evelyn jested. “Rowan and I almost got sent to the Chantry more times than I can count. Can you imagine? _Me_ taking Chantry vows? I’m faithful, but not _that_ faithful.” Cullen laughed, trying to imagine her as the young hellion she described. 

“Do Templars take vows? ‘I swear to Maker to watch all mages,’ that sort of thing,” Evelyn teased.

“There’s a vigil first before the swearing to the Maker happens,” Cullen responded in kind. “In all seriousness, you’re meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change. When it’s over, you give yourself to a life of service. That’s when you’re given a philter - your first draught of lyrium - and its power. As Templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgment. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen.” 

“A life of service and sacrifice,” Evelyn said. “Are Templars also expected to give up… _physical_ temptations?”

“Physical? Why…” Cullen flushed bright red when he realized the implication of the question. “Why would you…” The grin on her face told him how much she was enjoying this. “That’s… not expected. Templars can marry - although there are rules about it. And the Order must grant permission… Some may choose to give up more to… er… _prove_ their devotion, but it’s...um… not required.” Cullen gulped at his ale. He should have expected her next question, but he failed to prepare himself for it.

“Have you?” 

He nearly spat his drink, but managed to catch himself before he made an even bigger fool of himself. Maker! Why did she have to tease him like this?

“Me? I… um… no. I’ve taken no such vows. Maker’s breath! Can we speak of something else?” The smug grin on her face suggested she was pleased by his answer. Did she… _want_ him to be available? 

“Alright. You said you grew up in Honnleath?” Cullen breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yes. I was transferred to Kirkwall shortly after the Blight. This is the first I’ve returned in nearly ten years.”

“Ten years? Are you glad to be back?” 

“I was not sorry to leave at the time. I did not expect to return. Now - between the Divine’s murder and the breach, I’ve arrived to find nothing but chaos.”

“You preferred Kirkwall?” she asked.

“While I was in Kirkwall, Qunari occupied and then attacked the city, the viscount’s murder caused political unrest, relations between mages and Templars fell apart, an apostate blew up the Chantry, and the Knight-Commander went mad. Other than that, it was fine.”

Evelyn laughed heartily, in a way that was so infectious he couldn’t help but join her. A rogue tear streamed down her cheek. She wiped it away with a slender finger. 

“I’m sorry, it’s not funny. It’s just the way you said it.”

“Sometimes all we can do is laugh.”

“So what exactly happened?” 

“You were at the conclave, you must have heard people speak of it.”

“I did. But you were there.” Cullen sighed.

“There was tension between the mages and the Templars before I arrived. Eventually, it reached a breaking point. There was fighting in the streets. Abominations began killing both sides. It was a nightmare.”

“How did it end?” Evelyn asked. She appeared genuinely concerned.

“The Templars should have restored order, but red lyrium had driven the Knight-Commander mad. She threatened to kill Kirkwall’s Champion, turned on her own men. I’m not sure how far she would have gone. Too far.”

“You opposed her?”

“I stood with the Champion against her, in the end. But I should have seen through Meredith sooner.” 

“I’m sorry you had to experience that,” Evelyn said. She rested a comforting hand upon his arm, but then seemed to think better of it and pulled it away. “Varric’s from Kirkwall. He said you knew each other?”

“I knew he was friends with the Champion of Kirkwall, and I saw him from time to time, but little else. We’ve spoken more since I’ve joined the Inquisition. Largely at Varric’s insistence. Apparently I spend too much time with a serious expression on my face, and it’s bad for my health.”

“You _do_ have a rather serious expression,” Evelyn said. 

“Then perhaps my health _is_ in danger, if Varric is to be trusted.” 

“Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?” Evelyn asked demurely.

“No. I fear I made few friends there, and my family is in Ferelden,” Cullen answered.

“No one _special_ caught your interest?”

It was only then that he realized what it was she was asking him. 

“Not in Kirkwall…” he said, studying her face. Her eyes widened briefly, and then she smiled at him, glancing from his eyes to the scar on his lip. Cullen couldn’t help the nerves building in his stomach. How could someone he had only just met have such an effect on him?

“I… think I have asked you enough questions for one evening, Cullen. Thank you for indulging me.”

“It’s no trouble. I quite enjoyed it. You may question me anytime.” 

“Be careful, Commander. I’ll hold you to that.” 

“I look forward to it.” They smiled at one another. Evelyn tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I should go. I’ve got quite a journey ahead of me tomorrow.”

“Of course. Goodnight, Evelyn.”

“Goodnight, Cullen.”

He stared after her, this time not minding when she turned and caught his gaze. She smiled coyly before turning away.

Cullen grinned into his drink. He looked forward to whatever Evelyn had in store for him next time.

  
  



	3. Scouting the Hinterlands

The journey to the Hinterlands took just over a week. Before leaving, Evelyn had sent a letter home to Ostwick explaining what had happened. Her family had undoubtedly heard of the disaster at the Conclave, and she wanted to make sure they knew she was alive and well before she left. Mostly well, anyway.

When they had arrived at the Inquisition camp in the early morning, Scout Harding had pointed them in the direction of the Crossroads. Apparently Mother Giselle had been assisting the refugees in the area. The scout had also suggested locating Master Dennet, who had promised horses to the Inquisition. Harding had insisted Dennet’s horses were, “...the best they would find this side of the Frostbacks.” Acquiring the mounts was essential - it would cut down their travel time considerably. 

The Crossroads were just to the north, and the team wasted no time beginning their search for Mother Giselle. Evelyn was just admiring the beauty of the foliage that surrounded them when the first sounds of fighting were heard.

“Trouble up ahead. Let’s go,” she said, unsheathing her twin blades. They ran toward the sound, and found the Crossroads in the middle of a skirmish.

“Inquisition forces! They’re trying to protect the refugees!” Cassandra shouted above the sounds of battle.

“Looks like they could use a hand!” Varric added, aiming his crossbow, Bianca, at one of the apostates.

Evelyn threw a dagger, quickly taking out an apostate before they killed an Inquisition soldier. She dodged another attack, lashing out and striking the offending mage, who fell to the ground as she retrieved her blade. 

“We are not Templars, we mean you no harm!” Solas yelled to the apostates. His effort was fruitless, as the team avoided yet another round of spells in their advance.

“Doesn’t look like they’re listening,” Varric called, ducking as a spell flew just above his head.

Evelyn and Cassandra rushed toward the apostates, landing blows with their blades, as Solas and Varric attacked from behind. Cassandra angled her shield to deflect spells away from them as Evelyn maneuvered expertly around offensive attacks. 

“Be ready, more coming our way!” Solas called. 

Evelyn pulled her dagger from a dead mage and saw a group of Templars running toward them, undoubtedly after the apostates.

“Damn it!” she cursed. Solas cast a barrier around her and Cassandra as the Templars moved in. One took out the last of the apostates, but then they turned on the Inquisition’s soldiers and the refugees. Evelyn sprinted toward the nearest Templar and tackled him before he could reach a trembling refugee. 

“Run!” she ordered. The refugee didn’t question it, and took off.

Evelyn wrestled the Templar for control. She could feel the barrier wearing off, and had broken one of the most basic rules of her training.

_Never let the enemy take you to the ground. Remain on your feet at all costs._

The Templar had gained an advantage, flipping them so that she landed beneath him, and grabbed at her throat. Evelyn writhed beneath him, kicking and stabbing wildly, but from her position she couldn’t find the weak points in his armor. 

As spots began to cloud her vision, a force knocked the Templar off of her. Evelyn gasped, turning her body to see Cassandra make quick work of finishing him. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, pulling Evelyn to her feet. 

“I’m fine,” she croaked. “Keep going.”

The women stood back to back as more Templars closed in. Together, they successfully took down the rest of their attackers, while Solas protected them with his spells and Varric expertly fired bolts from a distance. 

“That’s the last of them,” Evelyn panted when the fight finally ended. She removed her helm, and her daggers dripped blood onto the grass. 

“We should look for Mother Giselle and make sure she survived,” Cassandra said. 

Luckily, it seemed there had been few casualties. Inquisition soldiers saluted and commended them on their timing. As they made their way through the refugees, Evelyn spotted Mother Giselle tending to an injured soldier. 

“There are mages here who can heal your wounds. Lie still,” they heard Mother Giselle instruct the soldier.

“Don’t let them touch me, Mother! Their magic…”

“Turned to noble purpose. Their magic is surely no more evil than your blade.”

“But…”

“Hush, dear boy. Allow them to ease your suffering.”

“Mother Giselle?” Evelyn asked as the mages began healing the soldier. The woman stood to meet her.

“I am. And you must be the one they are calling “The Herald of Andraste.” The Chantry Mother had a calm, comforting presence, and held warmth in her deep brown eyes. 

“I’m told you asked for me.” The cleric began to walk away from the makeshift infirmary. Evelyn followed.

“I know of the Chantry’s denouncement, and I’m familiar with those behind it,” she said. “I won’t lie to you - some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us…”

“What happened was horrible,” Evelyn agreed. She only wished she could remember how she had survived. Could she have saved more of them?

“Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason. Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.” 

“You want me to appeal to them?” Evelyn asked. 

“If I thought you were incapable, I wouldn’t suggest it.”

“Will they even listen?” Thus far, the Chantry had demanded her execution and labeled her a heretic. How could she possibly get anywhere with them?

“Let me put it this way,” Mother Giselle said. “You needn’t convince them all. You just need some of them to doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that away from them, and you receive the time you need.”

It was then that it dawned on her. Evelyn didn’t need the Chantry to support her - she just needed to stop them from outright denouncement. Letting them fight among themselves would be enough to get what she needed.

“Thank you, Mother Giselle. It’s good of you to do this.” The woman gazed out over the people in the Crossroads.

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us, but I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us… or destroy us.”

“I will do everything in my power to seal the breach and help these people. You have my word.”

“I do not doubt it. I will go to Haven in a few days and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.” 

Mother Giselle left her standing there, looking out at the refugees. There had to be _something_ she could do for these people while she was here.

“Corporal Vale is coordinating the Inquisition’s efforts in the area,” Cassandra said as her team joined her again. “We should speak with him.”

The corporal was able to point Evelyn and her team in the right direction. According to him, many had come with only enough food for a few days. They were also in dire need of blankets and healers. Lastly, he had shared the location of Master Dennet’s farm and marked it on her map. 

“Before you go, Herald, I should inform you that provisions have been prepared for you and your team. You can find them in the chests where the soldiers have set up camp,” Vale said, gesturing toward the makeshift camp in question.

“Thank you, Corporal. You’ve been most helpful.” She turned to her companions. “Let’s split up. Talk with the people, and see if we can find any leads. We’ll meet back here in a few hours and get to work.”

When they dispersed, Evelyn took a moment to examine the chest that had been prepared for her. It was stocked with provisions, healing potions, and other essentials. She closed it and wandered out into the Crossroads.

In her discussions with the refugees, Evelyn had found no lack of problems that would require aid. The first tip was that the local hunting grounds had become overrun with hostile apostates, which was why the hunter had been unable to hunt the rams that roamed there. An Inquisition recruit mentioned supply caches kept by the mages that, if found, could be used to to resupply and keep people warm. She also came across an elf, who begged her for help reaching his son. His wife was ill and his son, who ordinarily made a potion to help her, had run off and joined a cult on the outskirts of the Hinterlands. Solas was able to stabilize her for the time being, but they would need to find the boy, and soon.

Evelyn’s last stop before returning to meet her companions was to observe Varric, who was telling an extravagant tale to a group of children. They laughed as he acted out the characters, and Evelyn couldn’t help but laugh as well. She collected some food from her chest and passed it out to the children. They needed it more than she did. Her heart ached as they hugged and thanked her. When she turned to leave, she caught the eye of Mother Giselle, who nodded to her before making her way back to the soldiers. 

***

Cullen hastily took the reports from the scout and set about finding a quiet corner of the Chantry to work in. Ordinarily he’d prefer to work outside, but he had been waiting for the reports from the Hinterlands since the Herald… no, _Evelyn..._ and her team had left weeks ago, and their importance required a focus only a quiet room could provide.

Cassandra’s was on top. Unsurprisingly, her reports were clean and concise, detailing their endeavors and findings in the form of an organized list. Her information was useful, and Cullen took note of anything he may need to pass on to Josephine and Leliana. As he copied down the details, he noticed Cassandra’s final entry, written below her other notes.

  * _Our arrival at the Crossroads was met with resistance from rebel mages and Templars. The Herald was pinned beneath a Templar and held by the neck. I was able to stop the Templar, but the Herald suffered minor bruising. After a week of fighting beside her, I have determined her lost footing was not a mistake. The Herald is an extremely well-trained rogue._



_CP_

Cullen stared at the report, as though his gaze could bring further explanation. One of the first rules of combat training was to never let your enemy take you to the ground, especially for rogue fighters, who often wore lighter armor. He pulled out the next report, hoping it would contain more information.

The next came from Solas, who had thoroughly described the area, citing historical sites, locations of natural materials, and possible locations to camp. It was actually quite useful, but didn’t answer his question about the incident with the Templar. That was until he realized the pages had stuck, and there was one more note on the final page.

_Evelyn suffered a minor injury to the neck caused by an altercation with a rebel Templar. Though she claimed to not be bothered by it, she moved her head tenderly, and the discoloration turned to dark bruising. I applied an elfroot salve to the affected area that evening, but there was not much that could be done for it. It has been healing well on its own._

_Solas_

Cullen flipped immediately to the next report, hoping to find something else.

_Curly,_

_Have I mentioned that I hate the wilderness? The Ferelden cold bites as harshly as its war dogs. It has been two weeks since we parted with civilization. Since then, it has been nothing but hastily made camps. Rams feed on the grasses of rolling hills, while their predators lurk in hidden caves beyond view…_

Cullen groaned. Varric’s report was far thicker than the others. His clean yet elaborate scrawl continued for pages. While entertaining, it made it difficult to find the information he needed. He skimmed through until he found what he was searching for.

_When we arrived at the Crossroads, we were attacked from both sides by mages and Templars alike. Our team was caught in the middle, and neither group cared to differentiate between us and the enemy. They even went so far as to turn hostile against Inquisition soldiers and refugees. A Templar almost killed a refugee woman, but Evelyn tackled him to the ground at the last moment, giving her enough time to escape and saving her life. Unfortunately, once on the ground, the Templar was able to pin Evelyn down by the throat. The Seeker managed to pull him off and kill him before things could get worse, but the Herald was bruised for days. Trust me when I say we need to watch her, Curly. I’ve seen firsthand what this world does to heroes._

_V._

Cullen sat back in his chair and sighed, subconsciously running a hand through his hair. So Cassandra had been right - Evelyn’s lost footing had not been a mistake. She had done the only thing she could do to save the refugee woman, and risked her own life to do so. Cullen felt the anger rise in him as he imagined the Templar on top of her, strangling her as she desperately tried to free herself. 

He shook his head, attempting to clear the thought from his mind. Evelyn’s team had been successful in looking out for her, and that was what had really mattered. Varric’s final thoughts had struck a chord, however. 

_I’ve seen firsthand what this world does to heroes._

The Champion of Kirkwall had lost nearly everything. It was a miracle she even still lived. Cullen hoped Evelyn wouldn’t face the same fate.

When he finally opened the last report, he was unsurprised to discover Evelyn had dainty, elegant handwriting. 

_Cullen,_

_Our efforts in the Hinterlands have been successful. We were able to locate Mother Giselle with little trouble, aside from a small skirmish between our soldiers and the rebel mages and Templars. After we secured the area, I was able to speak with her. She has suggested I travel to Val Royeaux and try to appeal to some members of the Chantry who may be sympathetic to our cause, and will provide the details to Leliana._

_We have secured the hunting grounds as well as some other sources of supplies for the refugees here, but as long as this war still rages and the rifts still appear it will be unsafe for them to travel. While I have been able to close some of the rifts, I believe there are still more to be found in the area. Solas has been able to help us locate Elven artifacts that seem to strengthen the veil when activated, which should help keep demons away from the people. I am still searching for a healer to remain at the Crossroads until the refugees can make it to a city._

_We were also able to establish more Inquisition camps, as well as locate Master Dennet, who has promised to send us his horses on the condition that the Inquisition build watchtowers in the area. He fears his horses will be slaughtered on the road to Haven. We have taken care of the wolves, but the rebels and bandits are still a threat, and I feel it is a reasonable request. In the meantime, he has provided mounts for our party, so our travel time back to Haven will be greatly reduced. The Ferelden Forders are fine horses, and will do us well. (Though I secretly prefer a Free Marches Ranger, myself, but dare I say it? Ferelden is nothing without its pride!)_

_Additionally, we were able to sway some cultists to our cause, and their leader now serves as one of Leliana’s agents. I was also able to locate a lost recruit, who will be working under Leliana as well._

_Tensions are high out here. I’ve heard rumors of the rebel mages hiding out in Redcliffe. We will be returning to Haven soon to plan our next steps._

_I hope all is well. I’ve not forgotten your promise, and I look forward to questioning you further when I return._

_Evelyn_

Cullen grinned, in spite of himself, at her final words. Evelyn had made no mention of her altercation with the Templar. Had her companions not mentioned it, the incident would not have been documented at all. It seemed Varric had a point. 

Thus far, the team’s endeavors had been quite successful, and evidence of their efforts had already begun to make their way back to Haven. One such success was Mother Giselle’s arrival, whom Cullen nearly collided with as he left the small room on his way to deliver the reports to Leliana.

“I apologize, Mother Giselle, I didn’t see you there!” he said, sidestepping awkwardly to avoid her.

“It is quite alright, Commander, do not trouble yourself.” The Cleric said warmly.

“How were your travels? I hope all went smoothly,” Cullen asked.

“All went well, thank you. And thank you for your hospitality. It is good to see the work the Inquisition is doing. The Herald was a great help to the refugees in the Hinterlands.”

“Her reports have been thorough, but if there is anything more you can think of that we may be able to do to help, please let us know.”

“That is most kind. The Herald has raised the hopes of the people, which is the greatest gift she could give. She has acquired blankets and cleared the rebels from the hunting grounds. I do wonder, though, if it would be possible to send more provisions to the area? The Herald means well, but I worry for her.”

“We have been sending provisions regularly to the Herald and her team. Has she not received them?” Cullen was baffled by this. He would have to look into those who were supposed to be delivering them immediately. Surely some recruit had failed in his task, and Cullen would have to find a suitable punishment.

“It is not at the fault of the Inquisition, Commander. Your men have done a fine job,” Mother Giselle replied, as though reading his mind. “Unfortunately, even with the Herald’s efforts, there are too many refugees and too few supplies. I have witnessed her sneaking her meals to the children on numerous occasions. I have told her that to care for others she must first care for herself, but she insists she is fine. I worry for her. She needs her strength.”

Cullen stared at Mother Giselle, speechless. He softened as he imagined her helping the children at the Crossroads. In the short time he had known her, Evelyn kept finding ways to surprise him, be it with her kindness or her wit. He almost felt he should chastise himself for not expecting this from her, especially after what he had learned in Varric’s report. Mother Giselle smiled at him knowingly, and Cullen realized he had been staring quite rudely.

“I’m sorry, Revered Mother, I don’t mean to stare. You’ve just surprised me. I’ll arrange for more supplies to be sent to the refugees. Hopefully that will encourage the Herald to take her own.”

“I think that would be both wise and kind, Commander. I’ll leave you to your work.”

Mother Giselle left him then, and Cullen made quick work of having a cart stocked with supplies for the Hinterlands. He had personally inspected the Herald’s chest under the guise of making sure everything was in order. Foolish though it was, the real reason was that he wished to slip a note inside it. He set the letter on top where it couldn’t be missed before confirming everything was as it should be, then watched the cart pass through the gates, on its way to Evelyn.

***

“Excuse me, Herald, supplies have arrived from Haven. Commander Cullen insisted you receive your chest at once.”

“Thank you. You can set it down just there, I’ll look at it in a moment. Please bring the Commander these reports when you return.”

As the soldier left, Evelyn turned to inspect the chest Cullen had sent her. The arrival of the supply chests was nothing unusual, but the insistence on its immediate delivery was. She opened it to find the usual contents and provisions, if not a bit more full than normal. What _was_ unusual, however, was the letter that sat on top. Her name was written on it, which was unexpected, as most things that arrived for her were addressed to “The Herald of Andraste.” She turned it over, revealing Cullen’s wax seal. Curious, she quickly opened it.

_Evelyn,_

_Congratulations on your successes in the Hinterlands. I know there is still much to be done, but your efforts have helped the people immensely. Mother Giselle has arrived safely and has shared nothing but kind words about your work helping the refugees._

_She did, however, share that you had been giving away your provisions. I admire your kindness, but you cannot maintain your strength if you don’t take care of yourself. A moment of weakness can be dire, considering the danger you put yourself in for the cause. Please do not give the contents of this chest to anyone else, no matter the situation. They are yours and yours alone. I have sent a large cart of supplies and provisions directly to the refugees. They are well taken care of, so you need not feel any guilt that they will go without._

_I look forward to your reports and your return to Haven. Things have been rather dull without you. Josephine, Leliana and I have made steady progress in Haven, but their questions are certainly not as fun to entertain as yours._

_Cullen_

Evelyn sighed. She had been caught, and certainly wouldn’t be getting away with it again. However, the refugees had received more aid, and for that she was thankful. Although it was foolish, she smiled at the thought of Cullen caring enough to tuck the letter in her chest and demand its immediate delivery, and laughed as she recalled their conversation in the tavern.

She tucked the letter away with the few other personal items she kept in the field, and set about unpacking the chest, preparing for dinner. She and her team would be eating well tonight.

  
  



	4. Tensions Rising

Evelyn and her team had set up camp for the evening. They were about half a day’s ride from Haven, and should be arriving tomorrow. She sat by Varric near the fire, keeping watch while Solas and Cassandra slept in the tents they had pitched beside them.

“So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up alright?” the dwarf asked. “I mean you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

“Honestly, I have no idea what’s happening anymore,” Evelyn replied. She stared into the flickering flames, holding her hands out to enjoy the warmth. Everything had happened so quickly, and the shock of it all hadn’t yet caught up with her.

“That makes two of us,” Varric said. He held Bianca across his lap, polishing the crossbow with an old rag. “For days now we’ve been staring at the breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived. I like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this…” He shrugged and shook his head. “Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky. Even I can’t walk away and just leave that to sort itself out.”

“I’m still not sure I believe any of this is really happening. I just wish I could remember something, anything!” Evelyn confessed. Every night she had lain awake in her tent, trying to remember any detail of the Conclave. All it had earned her was a headache and a poor night’s sleep.

“If this is all just the Maker winding us up, I hope there’s a damn good punchline coming,” Varric said. Evelyn snickered. “You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere. I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes. We’re gonna need a miracle.” 

“Don’t let Cassandra hear you say that. I don’t need her thinking I’m going to bolt,” she said grimly. “Can I ask you something, Varric?”

“You want to talk about me? I’m flattered. Also inclined toward extravagant lies.”

“That… may have just answered my question, actually.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I was going to ask what the issue is between you and Cassandra. You’ve kept your distance for most of our trip.”

“You heard about the Kirkwall Chantry being destroyed?” Evelyn nodded. “The guy responsible used to be a friend of mine.”

“That’s… damn,” Evelyn said, unsure of what else to say. The Chantry explosion in Kirkwall had had massive repercussions, especially in the Free Marches. The Ostwick Chantry had been fully evacuated so that it could be searched for signs of danger.

“As you can imagine, the Seeker had questions about that, and I had answers.”

“I’m familiar with Cassandra’s methods of questioning.”

“I don’t doubt it. I figure she’ll either try to kill me, or we’ll part as unlikely friends.”

“I hope for the latter, for your sake.” Varric shrugged.

“Stranger things have happened.”

“What did you do in Kirkwall?” Evelyn inquired. “I know you’re an author, is that your main profession?” 

“No, I’m a businessman, actually. My brother Bartrand used to hold my family’s seat in the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild.”

“You have a brother?” 

“I did. He died years ago - was driven mad by red lyrium.”

“I’m so sorry, Varric,” Evelyn said. Varric kept polishing with intense focus.

“It’s not your fault. Bartrand did it to himself when he left Hawke and I to die in an ancient thaig. We accidentally discovered the stuff on an expedition to the Deep Roads. There was this idol in there, made of it. Bartrand brought it back to the surface and, well, everything’s gone downhill from there.” 

“What is it, exactly? Just another kind of lyrium?” Varric snorted.

“The red stuff is lyrium like a dragon is a lizard. It’s not just a different color. It has a whole host of weirdness all its own. It messes with your mind when you’re just near the stuff, makes you violent, paranoid. Then it starts doing creepy shit - making objects fly, bringing statues to life. It also turned Kirkwall’s Knight-Commander to lyrium. Everyone’s been kept at least a hundred paces from it since.” 

“And no one knows how it appeared at the Temple of Sacred Ashes?” Evelyn asked. If the substance was as dangerous as Varric said, this could prove to be disastrous.

“Not a clue. So far as I knew, the only piece to make it to the surface was destroyed, and the location of the thaig kept a secret. Unless someone found more in the Deep Roads, but that’s not a cheery thought.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the crackling fire and chirping crickets. The horses, tied across from the tents, snorted and pawed at the ground with their hooves. Deep in thought, Evelyn jumped when Solas emerged suddenly from his tent. 

“I see my wards are still up,” he observed. “We should switch places. You’ll need rest before the rest of our journey.” 

Evelyn yawned. She hadn’t realized how tired she was until Solas had suggested it. Cassandra appeared as well, strapping her sword to her hip.

“Alright,” Evelyn agreed. “Wake me if you need anything.”

Evelyn took Cassandra’s tent while Varric took the other. She removed her armor methodically, and dressed for bed in a loose undershirt and cotton breeches before tucking herself into the warm furs of her bedroll. Tonight, exhaustion won out before she could search for her memories, and she fell quickly into the fade.

***

The Herald and her team arrived in Haven in the late afternoon, splitting off immediately. All were in dire need of a bath and a hot meal. 

Evelyn filled a basin with water, heated on the fireplace in her little cabin. She scrubbed until her skin turned red, determined to rid herself of every speck of dirt and grime. When she was done, she dressed in warm leathers and plaited her hair into a simple braid before stepping back out into the cold mountain air. 

She walked up the steps, intending to meet for her debriefing, but was stopped by a crowd that had formed outside the Chantry. 

“We should cage the lot of you!” she heard a voice yell. 

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” 

“Lies! Your kind let her die!” 

“Shut your mouth, mage!”

Evelyn had almost made it through the crowd when the former Templar pulled his sword. She lunged forward, but Cullen had made it through faster than she, throwing himself in the middle of the men. 

“Enough!” he growled.

“Knight-Captain?”

“That is _not_ my title. We are _not_ Templars any longer. We are all part of the Inquisition!” He pointed a finger at the offenders as he spoke, who backed away in shame.

“And what does that mean, exactly?” Chancellor Roderick prodded, making a show of stepping into the center of the circle that had formed.

“Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?” Cullen retorted.

“I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ will restore order as you’ve promised.”

“Of course you are.” Cullen said, appearing more annoyed than Evelyn had yet to see him. “Back to your duties, all of you!” he ordered. The crowd dispersed, whispering amongst themselves as they left.

“Mages and Templars were already at war. Now they blame each other for the Divine’s death,” he grumbled when Evelyn approached.

“Which is why we require a _proper_ authority to guide them back to order,” Chancellor Roderick said smugly.

“Who, you?” Cullen scoffed. “Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?” Evelyn bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“The rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’? I think _not!_ ”

“If the proper authorities hadn’t completely _failed_ , the Conclave wouldn’t have been needed,” Evelyn said nonchalantly, allowing an heir of nobility to present itself. She saw the corner of Cullen’s lip turn upward as he fought a smile. The Chancellor, of course, wasn’t done yet.

“So you suggest I blame the Chantry and exalt a murderer? What of justice?” Cullen’s eyes darkened.

“Your version of ‘justice’ won’t help restore order in the here and now.” He crossed his arms, glare boring into the Chancellor, who laughed dismissively.

“Order will never be restored so long as this rebellion is allowed to fester.”

“Remind me why you’re allowing the Chancellor to stay, Commander?” Evelyn asked, turning to Cullen. He cracked a sideways smile.

“Clearly _your Templar_ knows where to draw the line,” Roderick jabbed.

“How _dare_ you!” Evelyn snapped. She glared daggers at the impudent little man, but Cullen waved him off.

“He’s toothless. There’s no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth. The Chancellor _is_ a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however.”

“The mages and Templars are fighting even though we don’t know what really happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes?” Evelyn was exasperated, and grew increasingly annoyed with the Chancellor.

“Exactly why all this should be left to a new Divine. If you are innocent, the Chantry will establish it as so!”

“Or will be happy to use someone as a scapegoat!” Cullen snarled.

“You think nobody cares about the truth?” Roderick exclaimed. “We _all_ grieve Justinia’s loss!” 

“But you _won’t_ grieve if the Herald of Andraste is conveniently swept under a carpet! I won’t let you kill her for your politics!” Cullen squared his shoulders and stepped threateningly toward him. While Evelyn was tempted to let the Chancellor meet his fate, she thought better of it, and stepped in to diffuse the situation.

“I’ll make sure they see reason in Val Royeaux,” she said, motioning for Cullen to follow her into the Chantry.

“I pray you’re right,” he said. He turned, allowing her to lead him away.

“Your letter said things had been dull while we were gone. Either you’re a liar, or this is your definition of dull. Should I be concerned?” she teased as they walked toward the war room. Cullen smirked in response, scratching at the back of his neck.

“At the time, it _was_ dull. Tensions between the mages and Templars within the Inquisition have been rising recently, and the Chancellor’s prodding isn’t helping. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

“Just don’t let anyone riot while I’m away. Wouldn’t want to miss the fun.”

“The walls will be standing the next time you return. I hope.”

As they passed Joesphine’s office, Evelyn heard a thick Orlesian accent arguing through the door.

“The Inquisition _cannot_ remain, Ambassador, if you can’t prove it was founded on Justinia’s orders!” 

“Sweet Andraste, what now?” Evelyn groaned, opening the door. Josephine glanced at her as she entered, a subtle glint in her eye the only indicator of how pleased she was with her timing.

“This is an inopportune time, Marquis, more of the faithful flock here each day. But allow me to introduce you to the brave soul who risked her life to slow the magic of the breach. Ser Trevelyan, may I present the Marquis DuRellion, one of Justinia’s _greatest_ supporters.”

“And the rightful owner of Haven!” he said, barely allowing the ambassador to finish. “House DuRellion lent Justinia these lands for a pilgrimage. This ‘Inquisition’ is not a beneficiary of this arrangement.” 

“This is the first I’ve heard of Haven having an owner.” Evelyn said, keeping her expression neutral. Cullen stood back, observing from the doorway.

“My wife, Lady Machen of Denerim, has claim to Haven by ancient treaty with the Monarchs of Ferelden. We were honored to lend its use to Divine Justinia. She is… she _was_ a woman of supreme merit. I will _not_ let an upstart order remain on her holy grounds!” The Marquis jabbed a finger at her, and Evelyn felt Cullen stiffen behind her. She maintained a stoic expression, refusing to so much as glance at the finger aimed at her chest.

“Interesting, considering the Inquisition was begun by the Left and Right hands of the Divine,” Evelyn said matter-of-factly.

“I’ve seen no written records from Sister Leliana or Seeker Pentaghast that Justinia approved the Inquisition,” DuRellion countered. Josephine looked to Evelyn, feigning mild concern.

“If he won’t take her at her word, I’m afraid Seeker Pentaghast _must_ challenge him to a duel.”

“What?” the Marquis exclaimed.

“It is a matter of honor among the Nevarrans. Shall I arrange the bout for tonight?” Josephine asked, flipping through her schedule.

“No! No. Perhaps my reaction to the Inquisition’s presence was… somewhat hasty.” He sighed deeply, pacing a few steps from the ambassador.

“We face a dark time, Your Grace. Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem.” DuRellion stood silently for a moment, then turned back to face them, far more humble than before.

“I’ll think on it, Lady Montilyet. The Inquisition might stay, in the meanwhile.” He passed Cullen as he left, who shook his head at the ambassador. 

“I’ll never understand how you do that,” he said.

“It is the Game, Cullen. Do not trouble yourself - there is a reason you are the commander and I the diplomat.” 

“Do the DuRellions actually have a claim on this place?” Evelyn inquired.

“His Grace’s position is not so strong as he presents it. Despite their Ferelden relations, the DuRellions are _Orlesian_. If the Marquis wishes to claim Haven, Empress Celene must negotiate with Ferelden on his behalf. Her current concerns are a bit larger than minor property disputes.”

“I’m _so_ pleased the Marquis isn’t tossing us out into the cold.” Evelyn jested. “Will the posturing never end?”

“His Grace is only the first of many dignitaries we must contend with.”

“You expect more visitors to Haven?” Cullen asked.

“Undoubtedly. And each will spread the word of the Inquisition as they depart. An ambassador should ensure the tale is as complimentary as possible.”

“The Inquisition is lucky to have you as an advocate, Lady Montilyet,” Evelyn said with a respectful nod. 

“Thank you. Let us hope so. Thedas’s politics have become… agitated, as of late. I hope to guide us down a smoother path.”

They exited the office together for the war room. Once there, Evelyn recounted their efforts and endeavors in the Hinterlands, providing all details she thought may be useful, before they turned their attention to other matters. The sun was setting over Haven by the time they finished, but much had been accomplished. The watchtowers were to be built and the odd shards she had found researched. Cullen was to send soldiers to aid refugees who had settled on a noble’s land, as well as an honor guard to Highever to represent the Inquisition during a vigil for the Divine. Since she was a friend of Teyrn Cousland, Leliana would send a personal letter as well. She would also dispatch scouts to the Storm Coast, and assist Josephine in some… _delicate_ matters - one of which involving Evelyn’s distant relatives.

“It seems they have been claiming a close friendship with the Herald, and as such, a cousin five times removed from Your Worship was heard threatening to send the Inquisition to fight his rival. This sort of thing does not help uphold the image of the Inquisition, I’m afraid,” Josephine said apologetically. “Perhaps we should promise your relations future favors to sate them in the meantime?” 

“I’m not inclined to reward such behavior, Ambassador,” Evelyn said, fuming. _Bold, indeed._

“There _are_ ways to indicate our displeasure without tipping our hand. I am not saying we send assassins, but the _rumor_ of assassins…” Leliana suggested.

“Not everything can be solved with assassins,” Cullen countered. “The Inquisition isn't a name to throw around lightly. We should openly denounce these people.” Evelyn shook her head in disagreement, and Josephine took the words from her mouth.

“Open denouncement may have consequences we cannot afford. Family matters are…”

“Complicated,” Evelyn finished. “Leliana, do not directly threaten my relatives, but perhaps a well-placed tip that the Inquisition has… _removed_ those who have unjustly abused its influence?” The spymaster smiled in agreement. 

“I’ll begin at once.”

“Lady, Trevelyan, may I have just a moment more of your time?” Josephine asked as the others filed out. 

“Of course, Ambassador. Is there something you need?” 

“I’d like to discuss your parents.” Ah. Evelyn had expected this sooner or later.

“What would you like to know?”

“As people have noted your station, it would be helpful to call on the resources of your noble kinsmen. I’d like to dispatch a courier, asking the Banns of House Trevelyan to align themselves with us, and I wish to know your thoughts - should we approach your family for formal support of the Inquisition?”

“My extended family never turns down a partner if they think there’s something in it for them. With the way they scramble for power, you’d think they were Orlesian,” Evelyn grimaced. “However, my parents are on a first-name basis with most priests in Ostwick, and I have a sister and a dozen cousins in the Chantry. When they hear I’ve been ‘touched by Andraste,’ you’ll have to _stop_ them from giving you money. Though it seems from our meeting that some of them have already heard.” 

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

“It’s worth a try. The only issue is the Chantry has denounced me. I’m sure my mother is _thrilled_ about that. But, if that’s what you want, I’ll send a letter to my family. I think they’ll respect the request if it comes from me.”

“Wonderful! That will save time,” the ambassador beamed. “Val Royeaux has noted your lineage. It gives the Inquisition some legitimacy, although not so much as we’d hoped.”

“Why not?” 

“You _are_ from Ostwick. Orlesian nobles consider the Free Marches… _quaint,_ ” she said, averting her eyes. 

“The blood of our nobility is just as old as theirs, if not older,” Evelyn scoffed. Though she frequently made fun of her homeland, she took offense when others did it. Particularly Orlesians.

“Orlais lives by its own standards, Herald. I meant no offense to the virtue of your family,” Josephine said apologetically. 

“It’s not you, Ambassador. Orlais remains Orlais. Maker forbid they recognize lineage outside of their own.”

“Speaking of which, I should thank you for your patience with the simple quarters.The accommodations in Haven are surely rough for someone of your birth.” Evelyn waved her off.

“Don’t worry about me. Haven is more than liveable.”

“Really?” Josephine asked, surprised. “If that is truly how you feel, I’m pleased to hear it.

“It is. Besides, having a few leagues of ice between me and whoever wishes me ill can’t hurt.”

“Do not say that too loudly,” Josephine jested. “Chancellor Roderick is still here.”

“Indeed,” Evelyn chuckled. “You know, ‘Montilyet’ sounds familiar. I swear our families have met before.”

“Perhaps. Everyone of distinction in the Free Marches attends Lady Trevelyan’s summer balls.”

“Great Aunt Lucille always did love a party,” Evelyn smirked. She suspected her aunt had had a wild youth, though you would never know it now.

“I don’t recall seeing you at any of them.”

“I was…” She paused, recalling the trouble her and Rowan used to get into. Often, she and her brother would make an appearance and quickly make their rounds, disappearing before their father could start pairing them off with potential matches. “...less than sterling company, when I was younger,” Evelyn finished.

“Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed,” Josephine quoted.

“You know the Trevelyan motto?” 

“Heraldry is a passion of mine,” she said.

“The food was peppered with too many attempts at matchmaking, for my tastes.”

“A common peril among nobility no matter where one goes,” Josephine agreed. “That reminds me, ‘The Herald of Andraste’ has received several invitations from the curious.” Evelyn raised a brow.

“To parties? How many am I getting?” she asked.

“Only seventeen this month, I’m afraid.” 

***

After leaving the war room, Cullen stopped to pick up more reports as he made his way to the tavern. He was hungry after a long day of keeping the peace between mages and ex-Templars, a task that reminded him far too much of Kirkwall for his liking. 

He greeted Flissa, who passed him a plate before finding a quiet table in the corner. Most had already come and left, so the tavern was currently in its brief quiet hour between dinner and when people arrived for drinks. He flipped open a report and began eating, hoping to get through a few more before nightfall. 

He was thoroughly engrossed in a third report before a voice caught him by surprise.

“May I join you?” Cullen jumped, startled. Evelyn stood just behind him, a plate and mug in either hand.

“I… of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He stood and pulled out a chair for her, which she accepted gratefully. 

“Do you ever stop working?” she asked as he returned to his seat. “Surely the report will still be there when you finish eating.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighed, setting it to the side. 

“I wanted to thank you for the extra supplies you sent to the refugees. If you had seen it…” she trailed off and stared down at her plate. “The situation is bad out there. The people do their best to hide the severity from the children, but they know.” Evelyn pushed her food around with her fork and rested her left hand on the table. “One little girl took to me, and followed me though the Crossroads whenever I was there. She had this little, ragged doll that was coming apart at the seams, so one night I stitched it back together as best I could. She told me its name was ‘Herald,’ after _me_. I told her ‘Herald,’ was a title, like ‘Ser’ or ‘Serah,’ and that my real name was Evelyn.The next time I saw her playing with it, she called it ‘Evelyn’ instead. When we left it was all I could do to get her to stop hugging my leg. It broke my heart.” Without thinking, Cullen placed a hand over hers and leaned closer.

“You don’t need to thank me. The work you’ve done has already done a great deal for them, and the Inquisition will keep protecting them until order is restored.” Evelyn looked downward at their hands and then slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. She held his gaze, and Cullen felt the heat rise in cheeks as he realized how close he had gotten. He began to pull away, but stopped when he noticed a small, yellow spot on her neck - the last remnant of the incident he had read of in her companions’ reports. Evelyn pulled back her hand, covering the spot instinctively. 

“So you’ve heard,” she said simply. The look on Cullen’s face must have given him away.

“I did.” Evelyn sighed, and began eating. “I was curious why you had left it out of your report.”

“It wasn’t important.” 

“Will you tell me what happened?” he pleaded. He had gained all he could from the reports, but hearing it from her would tell him far more than her companions could.

“Don’t you already know?” she asked defensively. Josephine had warned him of the stubbornness from House Trevelyan. It seemed Cullen was getting his first taste. 

“I would prefer to hear it from you,” he said calmly. She swallowed before answering. 

“When we arrived at the Crossroads, rebel mages were attacking Inquisition soldiers. We joined the fray and had nearly taken care of it when the Templars appeared. They attacked not only the mages and the Inquisition, but the refugees, as well. During the fight, I saw a Templar heading toward a refugee woman. She was cowering on the ground, terrified, backed against a stone wall. The only way I could stop him fast enough was to throw all of my weight at him and bring him to the ground. She escaped, but the Templar was much larger than me, and in heavy armor. He pinned me to the ground and grabbed me by the neck. I tried to fight my way free, but I couldn’t. Cassandra saved me just before I could pass out, or worse.”

Cullen was speechless. The choice had been undoubtedly reckless, but could he really condemn it? He stared at her stupidly, trying to string together a sentence that could convey how impressed he was by her compassion. 

“Is this the part where you scold me for breaking a basic rule of combat, Commander?” she joked half-heartedly, eyes downcast.

“Not today,” Cullen said gently. 

“Really?” she asked, rapidly raising her eyes to meet his. 

“Really. Just don’t make a habit of it,” he joked. Evelyn smiled. “And maybe we should have you do some training on how to get out of a situation like that, just in case.” 

“You just want an excuse to pin me down,” she said, eyeing him as she ate. Cullen reddened deeply.

“No! I mean, that’s not what I… I didn’t…” he stammered. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” 

“Maybe a little.” 

“Maker’s breath!” He buried his face in his hands while Evelyn laughed. Clearly she enjoyed teasing him, but he doubted she knew the full effect she had on him. Even _he_ couldn’t explain it. He had seen beautiful women before, and had romantic relationships, but Evelyn was stunning beyond compare. There was no denying his attraction to her, but it had now gone beyond the physical. She was kind and compassionate, generous, and sharp. She could tease him with her wit and then put a noble in their place in the same breath. She was dangerous with both her blades and her words, and Cullen had thought of her frequently while she was away in the Hinterlands. 

“Did you get a chance to inspect the horses Master Dennet provided? We’ll be receiving more of them once the watchtowers are complete.” Just like their last night in the tavern, Evelyn masterfully changed the subject before he could _really_ embarrass himself. 

“I did. They’re fine mounts, I’m looking forward to receiving the rest,” he said, lifting his head. “Though your report mentioned they’re not to your liking?”

“They’re very well-bred. Fereldens just enjoy their animals so _large._ Horses and dogs are bred for war here. The horses back home are small and fast. It’s a matter of personal preference, really.” 

“I heard you did quite well racing Dennet’s daughter,” Cullen said, amused. Evelyn laughed.

“My siblings and I used to race each other when we were younger. I spent a lot of time on horseback. It was a hobby of mine. Seanna offered me a challenge I couldn’t refuse.”

“I get the impression you’re quite competitive,” Cullen said, between bites.

“Your impression is correct. I love games - especially Wicked Grace.” 

“I can’t say I’m very good at it myself, but I enjoy a round now and again. I’m better at chess.”

“A game of strategy,” Evelyn commented. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.” Cullen laughed.

“Yes, something about the Commander enjoying games of strategy is a bit cliche, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps. We should play sometime,” Evelyn offered.

“I… would like that.” 

They finished their dinner, and Cullen walked Evelyn back to her cabin. She pointed out constellations as they walked, and Cullen couldn’t help smiling as she told him the stories of her favorites. They paused as they reached her door. Cullen fidgeted awkwardly. 

“I suppose this is goodnight, then,” Evelyn said, looking up at him. She was dazzling in the moonlight. 

“I suppose so,” Cullen said softly, holding her gaze. He hadn’t remembered getting so close, but the small space between them felt impossibly far away. 

“I’ll… see you tomorrow, then?” she asked hopefully. She smelled of honey and lavender. 

“I’m sure you will. We have to decide what to do about Val Royeaux.” Her lips were enticingly close. It would be too easy to lean in just a bit closer…

“I’ll see you then,” she smiled, slowly opening the door behind her. “Goodnight, Cullen.”

“Goodnight, Evelyn.” 

Cullen stared at the closed door for a moment after she disappeared behind it. As he settled into bed that night, thoughts of her were the last to occupy his mind as he drifted into the fade.

  
  



	5. Val Royeaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Author note: I run a Dragon Age blog on tumblr where I share DA related things and sometimes share previews of upcoming chapters/info about Evelyn! You can find me there as another-rogue-trevelyan. Thank you so much for reading!)

Evelyn made her way toward the Chantry for the meeting on Val Royeaux. Foolish though she felt, she was looking forward to seeing Cullen again, and quickened her pace as the building came into view. She was nearly there when she noticed Leliana kneeling in the snow underneath a tent.

  
“‘Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written.’ Is that what you want? Blood? To die so that your will is done? Is death your only blessing?” She rounded on Evelyn, who now stood just outside the tent. “ _You_ speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker’s prophet have to say about all of this? What’s His game?”

“I speak for no one but myself, and I have no answers for you.” Evelyn had never seen the Left Hand so worked up. 

“Then we can only guess at what He wants.” She was silent for a moment. Evelyn stood beside her, waiting for her to continue. 

“The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins. He demands it _all_! Our lives, our _deaths_ ! Justinia gave Him everything she had, and He let her _die!_ ” Evelyn watched her sadly. She had felt the same more than once since the Conclave. 

“I’m sorry, Leliana. Her death has clearly hit you hard.”

“Not just me. _All of us._ She was the _Divine._ She led the faithful, she was their _heart_! If the Maker doesn’t intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He?” She was pensive for a moment, a sad expression replacing her anger. “I used to believe _I_ was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people. But now she’s dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant _nothing_.”

“It wasn’t nothing to those you helped,” Evelyn reassured. “Maybe you have another purpose? I could help you find it.”

“No, this is my burden,” Leliana sighed. “I regret that I even let you see me like this. It was a moment of weakness. It won’t happen again. Come. To work, then.”

Though Evelyn wished to assure her that it was quite alright to be emotional, it was clear Leliana no longer wished to talk about it. They walked silently together into the Chantry. Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine were already in the war room when they entered. 

“Chancellor Roderick came to speak to me. Could you _try_ not to antagonize him?” Josephine pleaded with the Commander.

“If I offend the man so easily, perhaps he should try leaving me alone.”

Evelyn met Cullen’s eyes across the table. He smiled bashfully when he noticed her and scratched at his neck, fidgeting the way he did at Evelyn’s teasing. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks as she recalled how close they had been the night before.

Once he had left, Evelyn had leaned heavily against her door, taking a moment to collect herself. She had been close enough to _smell_ him, and had noted hints of oakmoss and elderflower as he stared into her eyes, her back pressed against the door. 

From the other side of the table, Evelyn noticed him glance toward the yellow bruise on her neck, reddening before averting his eyes. 

_You just want an excuse to pin me down._

That had been bold, even for her. She flicked her hair over the spot and stared with intensity at one of the little pawns on the table. 

Evelyn was undoubtedly attracted to him. He was handsome, passionate, and she couldn’t deny his stubble and scar held a rugged appeal. The contrast between the warrior she saw in the training yard and the gentleness he had shown in their conversations only piqued her interest all the more. Cullen was precisely the opposite of every sniveling noble her father had tried to pair her with. _Those_ men had been pompous and stuffy, and would talk in circles but were of little action. 

“You were saying something about… Cullen?” Both Evelyn and Cullen snapped back to attention. Josephine eyed the Commander quizzically.

“Hm? I, ah - Yes. Haven has limited space for our soldiers to train. Perhaps we could set something up over here.” 

“Perhaps,” Cassandra agreed. “First we should address the situation in Val Royeaux.”

“Having the Herald address the Clerics is not a terrible idea,” Josephine said.

“We can’t just send her into a trap,” Cullen argued.

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong. At the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.”

“And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?” Leliana asked. Josephine lifted her quill with a flourish.

“Let’s ask _her._ ” 

“I can defend myself,” Evelyn said firmly. “I’m more concerned this won’t actually solve any problems.” 

“I agree. It just lends credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says,” Cullen said. Cassandra shook her head in disagreement, then turned to Leliana.

“I will go with her. Mother Giselle said she could provide us names. Use them.” 

“But why? This is nothing but a-”

  
“ _What choice do we have, Leliana?_ Right now we can’t approach anyone for help with the breach. Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through.” Leliana stood silently for a moment, hands resting low on her hips and jaw clenched tight. Evelyn could almost see her circling thoughts as she yielded, nodding reluctantly.

“Prepare your party, Herald. You’ll be leaving for Val Royeaux as soon as possible.”

***

  
Evelyn, Solas, and Varric stood by the Haven gates. They would be leaving shortly, and were just waiting on Cassandra. As she tacked up her horse, Evelyn noticed the Seeker in the training yard, forcefully swinging her sword at a training dummy.

“I think you need dummies made of sturdier stuff,” she said as she approached. Cassandra snorted.

“That would be nice.”

“Maybe iron?”

“Did I do the right thing?” the Seeker asked, striking again. Evelyn followed her as she moved to a new target.

“What I’ve set in motion could destroy everything I have revered my whole life. One day they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right.”

“What does your faith tell you?”Evelyn asked.

“I believe you are innocent,” Cassandra said, glancing toward Evelyn before turning to face her target again. “I believe there is more going on here than we can see. And I believe no one else cares to do anything about it - they will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot. But is this the Maker’s will? I can only guess.”

“You didn’t have any choice, Cassandra,” Evelyn said as another dummy fell victim to the Seeker’s sword.

“Didn’t I?” she panted. “My trainers always said ‘Cassandra, you are too brash. You must think before you act.’ I see what must be done and I do it. I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

  
“It wasn’t like you had no reason to suspect me,” Evelyn reasoned. “In your place, I’d have done the same thing. Though I lack your… way with words.” Cassandra chuckled.

“I was determined to have someone answer for what happened.” She lowered her blade, walking toward the horses, but paused to turn to Evelyn once more. “You quoted the Chant that day with the Chancellor. Does that mean you believe in the Maker?”

“I believe He exists,” Evelyn confirmed.

“That’s… comforting. Surely the Maker put us both on this path for a reason. Now it simply remains to see where it leads us.”

“To Val Royeaux, presently.” They joined Solas and Varric and, once mounted, began their journey to the capital.

***

Evelyn hadn’t expected things to go smoothly, but even she didn’t anticipate _this_.

  
“Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are,” Varric said as they approached the city. Citizens cowered as they passed, and some even turned and ran.

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric.”

“My Lady Herald!” an Inquisition scout greeted, kneeling before their party. 

“You’re one of Leliana’s people. What have you found?” Cassandra asked.

“The Chantry mothers await you, but… so do a great many Templars.”

  
“There are Templars _here_?”

“People seem to think the Templars will protect them from…” The scout looked down nervously, clearly not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. “From... the Inquisition. They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the templars intend to meet you.” Cassandra sighed.

“Only one thing to do then.”

As they made their way into the city proper, Evelyn couldn’t help but admire its beauty. Val Royeaux glittered in the sunlight. A structure stood in front of them, adorned with golden lions.The architecture was elegant and sophisticated, and even the stones in the street were works of art. Under other circumstances, Evelyn might have even enjoyed her visit.

As it was, the circumstances didn’t lend themselves to sightseeing. 

“They wish to protect the people? From _us_?” Cassandra scoffed.

“Protect them from the blasphemous Herald of Andraste, more like,” Evelyn replied.

“Surely they cannot think such a thing!”

“And why not? They’ve already denounced me and demanded my execution.” Cassandra grunted in disgust. 

“Do you think the Order’s returned to the fold, maybe? To deal with us upstarts?” Varric asked.

“I know Lord Seeker Lucius. I can’t imagine him coming to the Chantry’s defense. Not after all that’s occurred.”

“So, the potential for trouble has increased twofold,” Evelyn said sardonically. Lovely.” They reached the other side of the market, where a crowd of clerics and guards alike had gathered. 

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!” a Chantry mother called from a podium. “Together, we mourn our Divine. Her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more! Behold, the so-called ‘Herald of Andraste!’ Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet! No servant of anything beyond selfish greed!” Evelyn stood tall as she walked through the crowd, and when she spoke her words were laced with noble authority.

“You say _I_ am the enemy. The breach in the sky is our _true_ enemy. We must unite to stop it!” 

“It’s true!” Cassandra called. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

“It is already too late!” the cleric replied. She pointed at a group of armed Templars who approached the stage. “The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this ‘Inquisition,’ and the people will be safe once more!”

Suddenly, a templar swung a fist at the cleric, landing a blow to her head. She cried out as she fell to the ground. Evelyn tried to move toward her, but more Templars blocked her path. 

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

“Her claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own,” a man said. He appeared to be leading the Templars.

“Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra began, “it is imperative that we speak with-”

“You will not address me,” he snapped. He turned to leave, Templars in tow.

“Lord Seeker?” Cassandra appeared thoroughly confused.

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet - you should be ashamed! You should _all_ be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! You are the ones who failed! You who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.” The Lord Seeker glowered at them with all the cordiality of a starved wolf.

“Demanding respect by inflicting genocide?” Evelyn seethed. “The Templars can still redeem themselves. Stop this madness and help us seal the breach, that is the _real_ threat!”

“Oh, the breach is indeed a threat. But you certainly have no power to do anything about it.” 

“But Lord Seeker…” a young knight started, “what if she really _was_ sent by Andraste? What if...”

“You are called to a higher purpose. Do not question!” an officer reprimanded. The Lord Seeker turned his attention to them one last time. 

“ _I_ will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the void. We deserve recognition, independence! You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition? Less than nothing. Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We March!” He turned, leading the Templars away in tight formation.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Varric said as the Templars vacated the city. Cassandra shook her head in frustration.

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” 

“It doesn’t look like we’ll be getting the Templars to help us,” Evelyn said. She glanced at the stage, where clerics were still tending to the fallen Chantry Mother.

“I wouldn’t write them off so quickly. There must be those in the Order who see what he’s become. Either way, we should first return to Haven and inform the others.” 

“We’ll leave shortly. Just give me a moment.” 

Evelyn made her way to the stage and kneeled beside the fallen cleric. She was sitting upright now, blood dripping from her nose. Evelyn removed a rag from her pocket and gently dabbed at it. She had expected the clerics to resist, but to her surprise they allowed her to tend to their injured comrade. 

“This victory must please you greatly,” the woman muttered.

“Not at all, Revered Mother. I only wished to speak with you.” 

“Just tell me one thing,” the cleric said. “Are you the Maker’s chosen, as so many claim?” Evelyn stopped her tending and handed the rag to the woman, who took it gratefully. She had spent many hours asking herself the same question.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know.” 

“That is… more comforting than you might imagine.”

Trying to leave Val Royeaux turned into a much more complicated task than expected. Before they could make it very far, Evelyn had recruited a merchant to the Inquisition, received an invitation to a salon at the Ghislain Estate, and narrowly avoided a well-aimed arrow that had landed at their feet, attached to a note that led them on a goose chase through the city. When they finally started toward the gates, they were stopped once again, this time by an Elven mage dressed in Circle robes.

“If I might have a moment of your time?” she asked.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Cassandra said, clearly surprised to see the elf here. 

“Leader of the mage rebellion,” Solas mused. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?” He raised a brow, sharing Cassandra’s suspicion.

“I heard of the gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes,” the mage explained. “If it’s help with the breach you seek, perhaps my people are the wiser option.” Evelyn’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m surprised the leader of the mages wasn’t at the Conclave.” 

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed. “You were _supposed_ to be, and yet somehow you avoided death.” Fiona was undeterred.

“As did the Lord Seeker, you’ll note. Both of us sent negotiators in our stead, in case it was a trap.” 

“How intuitive,” Evelyn replied. She was unsure of what to make of the elf. The timing was suspicious, and though she didn’t trust her, she certainly didn’t trust the Lord Seeker either.

“I won’t pretend I’m not glad to live,” Fiona asserted. “I lost many dear friends that day, just as I’m sure you did, Herald. It disgusts me to think the Templars will get away with it. I’m hoping you won’t let them.”

“You think the Templars are responsible?” Evelyn asked. Was this unfounded, based purely on bias from the war, or did the Grand Enchanter have proof?

“Why wouldn’t she?” Cassandra argued. Evidently she believed the former.

“Lucius _hardly_ seems broken up over his losses, if he’s concerned about them at all. You heard him. You think he wouldn’t happily kill the Divine to turn people against us? So yes, I think he did it. More than I think _you_ did it, at any rate.” Evelyn still wasn’t convinced.

“The mages weren’t willing to talk to the Inquisition before. Why now?”

“Because _now_ I’ve seen what you are. And I’ve seen the Chantry for what _it_ is.” She nodded respectfully before turning to leave. “Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe. Come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there - au revoir, my lady Herald.”

***

After another week of travel, the party arrived back in Haven. Evelyn desperately wished for a bath, or just to remove her boots, for that matter, but it seemed the advisors had other plans, and she and Cassandra were pulled immediately into the Chantry. 

“It’s good you’ve returned.” Josephine said, leading them as they walked. “We heard of your encounter.” 

“You heard?” Cassandra asked.

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course,” Leliana said as she approached, Cullen in tow. Evelyn attempted to smooth out her hair when she noticed him, but after a week of travel there was little to be done about it. She was certain she had plenty of dirt on her as well.

“It’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital,” he said, crossing his arms casually.

“At least we know that the Chantry is no longer a threat,” Evelyn said pointedly. Her body felt heavy, and she stifled a yawn.

“Yes,” Josephine agreed. “And we have the opening to approach the Templars _and_ the mages.” Cassandra shook her head.

“Do we? Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

“He didn’t seem very willing to negotiate under _any_ terms,” Evelyn added. Leliana nodded in agreement.

“True. He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been… very odd.” 

“We _must_ look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.” Cullen seemed confident in his words, but Evelyn was not convinced. It seemed Josephine wasn’t either.

“Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead.”

“You think the mage rebellion is more organized? It could be ten times worse.” He stopped, halting them all. It was all Evelyn could do to keep from bumping into him. 

“Or you could _stop bickering and make a decision,_ ” she snapped. It had come out harsher than she had intended, but Evelyn knew they could go on for hours this way if allowed to continue. Cassandra voiced her agreement. 

“We shouldn’t discount Redcliffe,” Josephine said. “The mages may be worth the risk.”

“They _are_ powerful, Ambassador, but more desperate than you realize.”

“After the Divine’s death, they’re probably scrambling for allies,” Evelyn reasoned. “Surely they’re in no position to turn down an offer of help?” Cassandra shook her head.

“If some among the rebel mages are responsible for what happened at the Conclave…”

“The same could be said about the Templars,” Josephine countered.

“True enough,” Cullen admitted. “Right now, I’m not sure we have enough influence to approach the Order safely.”

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places.” Cassandra turned to Evelyn. “That’s something _you_ can help with.”

“In the meantime, we should _consider other options._ ” Josephine said pointedly.

“I should go to Redcliffe,” Evelyn agreed. “We don’t need to commit to anything, but we should at least see what the mages have to offer.” 

“It’s not a bad idea. And perhaps we’ll learn something useful.” The others nodded their agreement, some more enthusiastically than others, before dispersing. Only she and Leliana remained.

“There _is_ one other matter,” the spymaster said. “Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared. Ordinarily I wouldn’t even consider the idea that they’re involved in all this, but the timing is… curious.” 

“You have a history with the Warden who ended the Blight, don’t you? No news from her?” It was the first time Evelyn had seen the Left Hand look worried.

“I count her among my closest friends. She’s probably the only person I trust completely. I haven’t heard from her in some time. She just… disappeared. I try not to think about what might have happened.” 

“That does sound odd, I agree,” Evelyn said. Why would the Wardens just disappear, especially at a time like this? Leliana looked relieved at her response.

“The others have disregarded my suspicion, but I cannot ignore it. Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. If you have the opportunity, please seek him out. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease.”

“And if he can’t?” Evelyn asked.

“Then there may be more going on than we thought.” She departed toward the war room, leaving Evelyn alone in the Chantry. She turned to leave as well, determined to get in a nap and a hot bath. 

***

During the next few days, Evelyn spent many hours discussing the upcoming negotiations with the mages in the war room, as well as preparing for the journey to Redcliffe. She had also received Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi of the Bull’s Chargers Mercenary Company, who had offered an invitation to observe them at work on the Storm Coast. It seemed their leader, known only as “The Iron Bull,” wished to meet with them. When she wasn’t working, Evelyn had made her rounds of Haven, sometimes meeting Cullen’s eyes across the training yard as she passed. Often, she was on her way to further get to know the new members of the Inquisition. 

Sera was… quite odd, really. There wasn’t any other way to describe the elf. She spoke in ways that rarely made sense, was fond of dirty jokes, and was perhaps the most skilled archer Evelyn had ever met, though she claimed to have no formal training. She was evasive when Evelyn asked her any personal questions, but responded well to jokes, and her “Friends of Red Jenny,” seemed useful. Evelyn had to admit she was amused by her sense of humor - when they had met in Val Royeaux, Sera had led them to a small fight, in which she had stolen all their assailants’ breeches. 

First Enchanter Vivienne was the opposite. Bestowed the nickname “Madame de Fer,” Vivienne played the Game with finesse. She was a skilled mage and an influential name that the Inquisition desperately needed. Evelyn had attended her salon at Ghislain Estate (where she had nearly been forced into a duel with a pompous Marquis), and Josephine had been thrilled to hear that she had agreed to join the Inquisition. In their conversations, Vivenne spoke of her time in the Circle, her work as Court Enchanter, and her relationship with Duke Bastien de Ghislain. 

Evelyn had also stopped to chat with Solas, who told her of his travels and studies of the Fade. His knowledge was incredible - he had been able to access memories of events both recent and long forgotten, and had made friends with spirits along the way. They had talked for a while, standing outside his cabin by the apothecary. Evelyn had asked the elf what felt like a thousand questions, and he happily shared his thoughts and experiences.

Another addition to Evelyn’s new routine was an early morning ride through the mountains. Evelyn had always been an early riser, and taking a horse out in the morning had been something she had enjoyed in Ostwick. It was a comforting reminder of home, and each day as the sun rose, Evelyn strapped herself into her armor, tacked up a horse, and explored the area surrounding Haven, using the time to prepare herself for the day.

Upon returning from one such ride, Evelyn was surprised to find Cullen approaching her as she dismounted. 

“Are you busy?” he asked.

“Not for a few hours. Were you hoping I could interrogate you again?” Evelyn teased. She led the horse into the corral and began removing the girth and saddle.

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” he said.

“Oh, you’re here to make me _work_.” Evelyn knew that face, and it usually meant someone needed something.

“I have a few recruits who have decent rogue training. They could be quite good with some refinement, but it’s not my area of expertise.”

“You’d like me to rough them up a bit? You don’t think the Herald of Andraste will scare them?” Evelyn unbuckled the bridle and pulled it from the horse’s head, then left the corral to hang the tack on the wall. Cullen followed.

“I’m _certain_ you’ll scare them. And maybe teach them a few things.” Evelyn turned to face him. He smiled hopefully, and the mountain cold had brought out the pink in his nose and cheeks. It was adorable.

“Alright, lead the way,” she said. Cullen seemed pleased with her response, and they trudged the short distance through the snow to the training yard. 

“Cullen, it’s just occurred to me that you’ve never actually _seen_ me fight. I could be terrible for all you know.”

“I’ve read enough reports to know that isn’t the case. And perhaps now I’ll get the chance to see for myself.”

“If that’s what you wanted, all you had to do was ask,” she teased. Cullen’s already pink cheeks blushed deeper.

“Yes, well… I… here they are.” He gestured awkwardly to a small group of recruits holding daggers. 

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Evelyn was pleased to see the recruits weren’t half bad. Cullen had been right - they could use some refinement, but after working on technique and practicing sparring, Evelyn could already see improvement. They made willing students, and listened to her instruction attentively. Every so often, Evelyn felt heat rise in her cheeks as she sensed Cullen’s eyes on her, watching her work. 

“You did well with them,” Cullen observed as they dispersed, their daily training complete. 

“They’re eager to learn,” Evelyn agreed, still holding her blades at her sides. Cullen looked at her curiously.

“How did you learn to fight?” he asked. 

“My father insisted my brothers were properly trained as warriors. Noble families have been attacked before, and he wanted them able to defend themselves. I begged him to let me train as well, but I was just a girl at the time - much too small for a shield and a longsword, but I was light and quick. The trainer suggested I learn another method, and I’m grateful for it. It suits me.”

“Indeed it does. I’ve always appreciated the discipline. I worry what happens when a rogue gets cornered, though. They aren’t trained for defense.”

“We don’t get cornered,” Evelyn insisted. Cullen opened his mouth to object. “And that time in the Crossroads was my own fault, not an accident.”

“That doesn’t change…”

“Change what?”

“That I worry for you,” he admitted.

Evelyn tried to meet his eyes, but he looked downward, shifting around awkwardly. He worried for her? Did he… _care_ for her? 

“Cullen, I…”

“I know it’s foolish, but after what happened at the Crossroads… if Cassandra hadn’t been there…”

“I can take care of myself, Cullen,” Evelyn said softly. He finally raised his eyes to hers, blushing even more brightly than before. 

“I know,” he conceded. Evelyn smiled mischievously.

“Grab your sword, Commander.”

“What?”

“Grab your sword. I’m about to show you that there’s nothing to worry about.” At first he opened his mouth in surprise, but then returned her smile as he drew his blade and grabbed his shield.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked as they faced each other, blades at the ready.

“You wanted to test my abilities. Do your worst.”

Evelyn let Cullen strike, making a point to fight defensively. Cullen attacked with precision, but the pace was far too slow for an opponent of his skill.

“You’re going easy on me, Cullen,” she said, stepping around another blow.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“I…”

Evelyn lunged at him with a fast-paced attack. It caught him off-guard, but he reacted quickly and blocked with his shield. It had the reaction she was hoping for - he swung harder now, the steps of their dance quickening as Evelyn attacked and dodged. She kicked his shield, causing him to stumble backward, and struck while he was off-balance, but he parried expertly. 

They were nearly matched. Cullen was more skilled than she, but Evelyn was no easy target. Their blades clashed against each other, the harsh sound carrying through the cold air, as Evelyn avoided yet another blow from his sword. Overconfident, she slipped her leg between his and kicked him off-balance. Cullen knocked her blades from her hands as they tumbled into the snow, dropping his own weapon in the process.

Evelyn landed on top. She straddled him, fighting to keep her position, but it was no use. Cullen flipped them over in one quick motion. She tried to turn them back, but he grabbed her by the wrists, pinning her to the ground. 

Though she laid in the snow, Evelyn suddenly felt very hot. The feeling of Cullen’s body pressed against her stirred something in her, and she was sure he could hear her heart pounding. Neither dared to move, so they froze, panting from the exertion of their sparring. Cullen’s eyes held her captive as he released a hand, gently brushing away a rogue lock of hair that had fallen into her face. 

“I… should probably stop trying to knock people down,” Evelyn breathed. She swallowed nervously. Cullen’s eyes were darker than usual, and they wandered from her eyes to her lips, his own slightly parted. Evelyn blushed furiously.

“I…” 

“Now _this_ is good. Don’t mind me, I’ll just be taking notes for my next book.” 

Cullen jumped, startled. He clambered gracelessly to his feet, spluttering apologies, and offered Evelyn a hand. She took it, snow falling from her as she stood. Once upright, she stared intently at her bracer, pulling at the fastenings. Cullen glared at the dwarf.

“No need to stop on my account,” Varric said, holding up his hands. “But _maybe_ on Cassandra’s. She’s looking for you, Curly.” Evelyn coughed uncomfortably while Cullen scratched at his neck, averting his eyes.

“I… yes. I’ll just… um…” he turned to Evelyn, who nodded, waving him off. “I’ll… see you…?”

“Soon, I’m sure,” Evelyn finished. He caught her gaze again, trapping her in his amber eyes. 

“I’d go before Cassandra comes looking, if I were you. She’s not known for her patience.” 

“I’ll... be in the Chantry, if you need me,” Cullen said awkwardly. He retrieved and returned their weapons before leaving, and Evelyn turned away, running her hands through her snowy hair. _What in the Fade just happened?_

“You two are worse than Choir Boy.” the dwarf chuckled. 

“ _Oh shut it, Varric!”_


	6. An Invitation to Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter covers the events of In Hushed Whispers and therefore has some depictions of violence, though nothing more than is seen in the game itself.

_Leliana,_

_I was able to locate Warden Blackwall near Lake Luthias. He has been recruiting on his own, and seems to have no further knowledge of the disappearance of the other Wardens. However, he is a skilled warrior and I have recruited him to the Inquisition. Josephine may be able to use the Warden treaties, and perhaps something he knows may help you in your search. I expect he’ll be arriving to Haven shortly after you receive this letter._

_On an unrelated note, we also found a talking ram that turned out to be a rage demon. Things are certainly never dull._

_Signed,_

_E. Trevelyan_

  
  


_Cullen,_

_We’ve managed to recruit more agents, but I’m afraid that’s the only good news I have to share. The fighting has gotten worse along the King’s Road. We were able to clear out both mage and Templar holds in the area, but it still hasn’t been enough to put an end to it. The dead scatter the ground no matter where we go. Our soldiers have been successful in holding the Crossroads, but I’m not sure how long they can hold out._

_Searching a bandit fortress led us to Valammar, an old Dwarven ruin near Lake Luthias. It’s become a Carta base, and it seems they’ve been watching us. Deeper in the ruins we encountered darkspawn, but we were able to board up the hole they had come through. It isn’t a long term solution, but it was the best we could do for the time being._

_We continue to seal any rifts we find. It’s impossible to say how many there are, but I think we’ve made decent progress on closing them. We’re currently on our way to Redcliffe. We’ll send word immediately once we’ve met with the Grand Enchanter._

_Evelyn_

_Cullen,_

_Redcliffe’s been taken. Details sensitive. Returning_ _immediately_ _._

_Evelyn_

  
  


Evelyn’s three reports were strewn across the war table. Since she had arrived in the Hinterlands, the reports from her and her party had grown only more concerning, made all the worse by a letter that had arrived from a Magister Gareon Alexius.

“It’s a trap,” Leliana said, the Magister’s letter in hand.

“Of course it’s a trap!” Cullen snapped. He leaned his hands on the table, staring down at Evelyn’s last report. He grew more uneasy with each passing hour, the need to do something, _anything,_ becoming overwhelming. 

“Trap or not, there is nothing we can do until the Herald returns. We do not have enough information to act,” Josephine said. Though she aimed her words at no one in particular, Cullen knew they were meant for him. He knew she was right, but that didn’t make it any less irritating. 

“What have you heard?” he asked Leliana. The spymaster shook her head in resignation.

“My reports have been unclear. A scout has informed me the Herald’s party was not expected in Redcliffe, and that this Magister has taken up residence in Redcliffe Castle. The Arl has been misplaced, but the mages remain. The Herald was seen entering the local tavern to meet with this Magister, but she and her party are the only ones who know what went on. I expect her arrival tomorrow. We’ll be able to assess the situation then.” 

“How could the Arl be misplaced? Teagan did not abandon Redcliffe during the Blight, why would he do so now?” If whatever had happened in Redcliffe had been bad enough to remove Teagan, then it was worse than he could imagine. He feared for Evelyn - they had heard nothing from the party since her last report. 

Cullen had not had a chance to speak with her after their encounter in the training yard. Preparations for Redcliffe had consumed them both, and the few times they had seen each other consisted only of war room meetings, where he would occasionally meet her eyes across the table before looking away, trying not to make a complete fool of himself. 

He had nearly _kissed_ her. Perhaps Varric’s interruption had saved him the embarrassment. It wasn’t like he needed any help embarrassing himself as far as she was concerned. Surely it was better this way.

_But what if…?_

The thought had invaded his mind each night as he lay awake, remembering how she felt beneath him, breathing heavily from their sparring. How beautiful she looked with the snow in her hair, how the only sight that could pull his eyes from hers were that of her red lips, and how her voice, normally silvery and assured, had become breathless and light as he brushed her hair from her face.

And _what if?_

Maker, how he wanted her! His body betrayed him whenever she was near, and when she was gone she occupied his thoughts. How flustered he became at her teasing, and how her eyes stripped him bare, leaving him defenseless to her will. Despite it all, he reasoned, it was better that he kept his feelings to himself. Even if by some miracle she cared for him as well, she was a noblewoman, the Herald of Andraste. He’d be a fool to think anything could come of it. 

But that didn’t mean he didn’t want it. And _Maker,_ he wanted it.

Cullen was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of voices beyond the war room.

“Your Worship, we weren’t expecting you until tomorrow!”

“Where are the advisors?”

“In the war room, my lady!”

The captor of his thoughts burst through the door, blue eyes scanning the scene before her. She seemed satisfied when she saw all three of them were already here. Evelyn was covered in dirt and snow. Strands of her hair stuck out awkwardly, having come loose from her braid. She looked like she had barely slept in days. Cassandra followed behind her in much the same condition. 

“Lady Trevelyan! How…?” Josephine started.

“We rode as fast as we could, and only stopped for a few hours at a time,” Evelyn explained before she could finish. “We have to free Redcliffe.” 

“Slow down, and tell us what happened,” Cullen said, firm but gentle. He couldn’t believe she was actually standing in front of him. While he was relieved to see her, the look in her eyes worried him. Evelyn sighed, releasing the tension she was carrying in her shoulders.

“A Tevinter supremacist cult called the Venatori have taken Redcliffe, led by Magister Gareon Alexius. He has indentured the mages and displaced the Arl. And that’s not all.”

She explained what had happened, from the rift that slowed time and their unexpected arrival, to how the Grand Enchanter had no recollection of inviting them, and the note the Magister’s son, Felix, had slipped to her. She told of her conversation with Connor Guerrin, who explained his uncle’s disappearance, and the Tevinter mage she had met in the Chantry who had returned with her. This mage (Dorian Pavus, she had said) had been Alexius’s apprentice at one time, but he and Felix had made a dangerous discovery - the Magister had manipulated time itself to reach the mages before the Inquisition, and Evelyn was his target. When Leliana shared the news of the letter requesting a meeting, Evelyn, unsurprised, placed her hands upon her hips and paced the room contemplatively.

“We _have_ to rescue the mages. I won’t let them be sent to slavery in the Imperium, and I won’t let this Magister take Redcliffe.”

“We don’t have the manpower to take the Castle. Either we find another way in, or we give up this nonsense and go and get the Templars.” Cullen argued. “It’s simply too dangerous.” 

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister,” Cassandra said grimly. “This _cannot_ be allowed to stand.”

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name. It’s an obvious trap!” Josephine said. Evelyn smirked from across the table.

“Isn’t that kind of him? What does Alexius say about me?”

“He was so complimentary that we are certain he wants to kill you,” Leliana replied. Josephine sighed.

“Not _this_ again.”

“Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden! It has repelled _thousands_ of assaults,” Cullen said. He turned to Evelyn, praying he could make her see reason. “If you go in there, you’ll _die!_ And I’ll… _we’ll_ lose the only hope we have of stopping these rifts. _I won’t allow it!”_

He met Evelyn’s steely gaze across the table with ferocity, both unwilling to yield. 

“And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep,” Leliana countered. 

“Even if we _could_ assault the keep, it would be for naught,” Josephine said. “An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.” Cassandra scoffed.

“The Magister…!”

“ _H_ _as_ outplayed us.” Cullen snarled. 

“And this cult that wants me dead will do what, exactly? Graciously accept our apologies and go about their business?” Evelyn’s words were laced with venom. “We _must_ do something, before they do.” Leliana nodded her agreement.

“They will remain a threat, and a _powerful_ one, unless we act.”

“We cannot accept defeat now,” Cassandra pressed. “There _must_ be a solution.” Evelyn began pacing again. She held one elbow in her palm, arm crossed in front of her, and held the other hand near her face as she walked.

“Other than the main gate, there’s got to be another way into the castle. A sewer? A water course? _Something?_ ”

“There’s nothing I know of that would work,” Cullen said, defeated. He didn’t care for the idea of leaving a Tevinter cult in Redcliffe either, but the alternative was an impossible assault. They had no other choice.

“Wait,” Leliana said. They all turned as the spymaster’s face dawned with realization. “There _is_ a secret passage into the castle, an escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.” 

“Too risky,” Cullen dismissed. “Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the Magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction… perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

_No._

That had been his first reaction, the feeling that gripped his stomach and told him this was a horrible idea, that he couldn’t send her into danger like that. But then…

“While they’re focused on Trevelyan, we break the Magister’s defenses,” he realized as the Commander took over. “It’s a huge risk, but… it could _work._ ”

“Fortunately, you’ll have help.” 

The voice had come from the man who had just invited himself into the war room, unannounced. A scout followed behind, likely the one who had failed to keep him from doing so.

“This man says he has information about the Magister and his methods, Commander,” the scout explained. Cullen furrowed his brow in distrust.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help. So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.” This must be the mage Evelyn had mentioned. 

“The plan puts you in the most danger,” Cullen said to Evelyn, praying she would put a stop to it. “We can’t in good conscience order you to do this. We can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you.” His eyes pleaded with her, silently begging her to change her mind, but it was no use. 

“Prepare your spies, Leliana,” she said. “We leave for Redcliffe in the morning.”

Cullen’s heart sank as she turned and left the war room.

***

Evelyn had grown used to the whispers that followed wherever she went. The hushed voices and nervous glances no longer bothered her. No, it was the _fear_ that concerned her. It blanketed the village like a fog, apparent in the eyes of all she passed, who waited with baited breath.

She arrived at the castle with Solas and Cassandra. Dorian would be leading the scouts through the passage Leliana had mentioned and, if all went well, would meet them inside.

“Announce us,” she commanded the steward. He glanced nervously from Evelyn to her companions.

“The Magister’s invitation was for Mistress Trevelyan and no one else. The rest wait here.”

“They have to accompany me. You wouldn’t deprive me of my attachés, would you?” She kept her chin up and brow raised, her words calm yet threatening. The steward nodded politely, but Evelyn was very much aware of the cultists that folded in behind them as they made their way toward the throne room.

“My Lord Magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”

“My friend!” Alexius greeted amicably, rising from the Arl’s throne. “It’s so good to see you again! And your… _associates_ , of course.” His emphasis on the word was the only hint of his displeasure that she was not alone. “I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

“Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” the Grand Enchanter asked, approaching from the side of the room. 

“Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.”

“If the Grand Enchanter wants to be part of these talks, then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition,” Evelyn said with her most winning smile. 

“Thank you,” Fiona said earnestly. If the Magister was displeased, he didn’t show it as he resumed his seat on the throne.

“The Inquisition needs mages to close the breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?”

“Actually,” Evelyn said, maintaining her smile, “I hoped you could tell me about these ‘Venatori’ I’m hearing so much about.”

“Now, where could you have heard that name?” Alexius’s tone remained friendly, but Evelyn could sense the threat behind his words.

“I told her,” Felix said from his father’s side. The Magister’s expression became pained.

“Felix, what have you done?”  
  
“You wanted me here. Why?” Evelyn demanded.

“Do you know what you are?” Alexius spat, rising from his seat. “You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark, a gift you don’t even understand, and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a _mistake_.”

“If I’m a mistake, what exactly was the breach supposed to accomplish?”

“It was to be a triumphant moment for the Elder One, for this world!”

“Father, listen to yourself!” Felix pleaded. “Do you know what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be,” Dorian said, making his way into the throne room. Evelyn was relieved to see his arrival - that meant the scouts had been successful. Alexius’s demeanor darkened.

“ _Dorian._ I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“That’s who you serve?” Evelyn asked. “The one who killed the Divine? Is he a mage?”

“Soon he will become a _god_. He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Sea.”

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona protested.

“Alexius,” Dorian implored, “This is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen. Why would you support this?” Alexius turned away as his son approached him.

“Stop this, father. Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the breach, and let’s go home.”

“No! It’s the only way, Felix! He can save you!” Alexius raved.

“Save me?”

“There _is_ a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple-”

“I’m going to die,” Felix stated. “You need to accept that.”

“Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this woman’s life!”

Just as Alexius gave the command, Leliana’s spies attacked his guards from behind, killing them instantly. They fell to the floor, and the Inquisition took up their places.

“Your men are dead, Alexius,” Evelyn said triumphantly. The Magister filled with rage.

“You are a _mistake!_ You _should never have existed!”_

Alexius magically suspended an amulet in the air. It spun, glowing green, and sparked, as though enwrapped in bolts of lightning. 

_“No!_ ” Dorian cried, shooting a spell at the object. The last thing Evelyn remembered seeing was swirling green before everything went black.

She landed knee deep in water, a pair of Venatori upon her before she had a moment to take in her surroundings. She cut them down quickly with her blades as Dorian cast spells from behind. 

“Displacement? Interesting,” Dorian thought aloud once the immediate threat had passed. “It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us… to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?” He trudged a few steps through the water and kneeled, feeling around the ground.

“The last thing I remember, we were in the castle hall,” Evelyn said, looking around. They appeared to be in some sort of dungeon. Cells lined the walls, and the whole vicinity glowed in an eerie, dim red light. 

“Let’s see,” Dorian mused. “If we’re still in the castle, it isn’t… oh! Of course! It’s not simply _where_ , it’s _when!_ Alexius used the amulet as a focus, it moved us through time!”

“Dammit!” Evelyn cursed. Dorian looked too pleased at the genius of his own discovery considering the implications that came with it. Evelyn, for her part, was starting to panic. “Did we go forward in time or back? And how far?”

“Those are _excellent_ questions. We’ll have to find out, won’t we? Let’s look around, see where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back… _if_ we can.”

“What was Alexius trying to do?” Evelyn asked as she unlocked the dungeon door with a key she had taken off one of the Venatori. 

“I believe his original plan was to wipe you from time completely.”

“Oh, _splendid._ ”

“If that happened, you would never have been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes or mangled his Elder One’s plans.”

“That’s me, the professional evil plan mangler.” Dorian smirked.

“I think your surprise in the castle hall made him reckless. He tossed us into the rift before he was ready. I countered it, the magic went wild, and here we are. Make sense?”

“Not in the slightest, but I’ll go with it.” They waded through the flooded halls, searching for anything that could help. “It just... seems so insane.”

“I don’t even want to _think_ about what this could do to the fabric of the world. We didn’t ‘travel’ through time, so much as punch a hole through it and toss it into the privy.” Evelyn’s face must have given away her fear, because Dorian stopped her for a moment with a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“Don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll protect you.” Ordinarily she’d insist she could defend herself, but at the moment she found the promise comforting, and thanked the Maker that she wasn’t alone.

“There were others in the hall,” she said, continuing their search. “Could they have been drawn through the rift?”

“I doubt it was large enough to bring the whole room through. Alexius wouldn’t risk catching himself or Felix in it. They’re probably still where and when we left them. In some sense, anyway.”

“Do you know anything about this ‘Elder One’ Alexius mentioned?”

“Leader of the Venatori, I suspect. Some Magister aspiring to godhood. It’s the same old tune. ‘Let’s play with magic we don’t understand! It will make us incredibly powerful!’ Evidently, it doesn’t matter if you rip apart the fabric of time in the process.”

“You have a plan to get us back, I hope.”

“I have some thoughts on that. They’re _lovely_ thoughts - like little jewels.”

They found a staircase that brought them to the lower floor of the castle. Though they had escaped the worst of the water, red lyrium jutted from the stone walls, humming as they made their way past more cells. 

“Alexius sure has made a mess of this place,” Dorian muttered.

“I’ll feel better when we’re as far away from that lyrium as possible,” Evelyn said as she sidestepped a particularly large crystal.

“Yes, his decorating _is_ rather horrible. I almost preferred the horrible carvings of dogs and wolves.”

“Fereldens do love their dogs.”

They continued through the winding corridors, lined with more cells and wet floors. A mage Evelyn recognized from the village stood within one of them, swaying and chanting, a large piece of red lyrium in the corner behind him.

“What did they _do_ to you?” Evelyn asked softly. 

“Andraste blessed me, Andraste blessed me…”

“Come on, Evelyn,” Dorian said gently. “We can’t help him unless we get back.”

Another set of stairs led them to a large chamber with grated metal floors and a few Venatori guards. They took them down quickly, then followed the path down the stairs to the left. 

“It’s just another dungeon,” Evelyn said, treading through more water. 

“Something in this castle will help us. We need to keep looking.” Dorian stepped further into the room, examining the cells.

“You’re… alive? How?” At the sound of her voice, Evelyn ran to the cell next to Dorian.

“Fiona?”

“I saw you… disappear… into the rift.” 

She was but a shell of the woman Evelyn had seen not long ago. Fiona was encased in red lyrium, the horrible substance protruding from her skin. She stood, weak, unable to move.

“I don’t understand, what’s happened to you?”  
  
“Red lyrium… it’s a disease. The longer you’re near it… eventually… you become this. Then they mine your corpse for more.” Evelyn suddenly recalled her conversation with Varric one night at camp.

_It also turned Kirkwall’s Knight-Commander to lyrium. Everyone’s been kept at least a hundred paces from it since._

She shuddered.

“Can you tell us the date?” Dorian asked. “It’s very important.”

“Harvestmere… 9:42 Dragon.”

“Nine forty _-two?_ Then we’ve missed an entire year!” 

“We have to get out of here, go back in time,” Evelyn said. She wished to look anywhere but at the Grand Enchanter, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away.

“Please,” she begged, “stop this from happening. Alexius… serves the Elder One. More powerful… than the Maker… No one… challenges him and lives.”

“That Magister is going to regret he didn’t just kill me,” Evelyn said through gritted teeth. Who could possibly want this horror? 

“Our only hope is to find the amulet that Alexius used to send us here,” Dorian said. “If it still exists, I can use it to reopen the rift at the exact spot we left… maybe.”

“Good,” Fiona said weakly.

“I said _maybe._ It might also turn us into paste.”

“You _must_ try,” the enchanter replied. Evelyn agreed - surely being turned to paste was better than this? “Your spymaster, Leliana… she is here. Find her. Quickly… before the Elder One… learns you’re here.”

Evelyn and Dorian returned up the stairs and crossed the chamber to the other side, in search of Leliana. Evelyn didn’t even want to know what they had done to her, or to the rest of the Inquisition, for that matter. What had happened to Solas, Cassandra?

_Cullen?_

She shook her head as she ran down the stairs. None of this was real. They _would_ fix this, and it would be nothing more than a bad dream.

“The light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.”

“Cassandra!” Evelyn called. The Seeker sat hunched in a cell, cross-legged on the damp floor, a faint red glow surrounding her. 

“You’ve returned to us! Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance? Maker forgive me, I failed you! I failed everyone. The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life.”

“I’m not back from the dead, Cassandra. I just got… well, this is hard to explain.”

“I was _there._ The Magister obliterated you with a gesture!”

“Alexius sent us forward in time. If we find him, we may be able to return to the present,” Dorian explained as Evelyn picked open the lock on the cell door.

“Go back in time? Then… can you make it so that none of this ever took place?”

“We’ll try,” Evelyn said. “And I’ll make sure Alexius suffers for his crimes.”

“Alexius’s master… after you died, we could not stop the Elder One from rising. Empress Celene was murdered. The army that swept in afterwards - it was a horde of demons. Nothing stopped them. _Nothing._ ”

“We’ll stop all of that from happening. I promise.” She prayed it was a promise she could keep.

“Maker guide us all.”

They found Solas not far from Cassandra, who expressed much the same sentiments. He was afflicted with the same strange glow. 

“We’ll have to go up. I’ve heard the guards say Alexius has barricaded himself in the throne room.”

They made their way back to the large chamber just as a drawbridge fell, allowing Venatori guards across. Evelyn and Dorian took out a few, allowing Cassandra and Solas to take their weapons and join the fray. Dripping blood, they crossed the bridge and climbed the stairs into the barracks, where Evelyn found some notes with odd prayers and a guard’s tattered journal.

_Alexius keeps asking for patrols of the walls. Waste of time, if you ask me. The Inquisition ground themselves to a pulp against the walls ages ago..._

Evelyn swallowed painfully, forcing back tears. Dorian read the page over her shoulder, then trained his eyes on her face.

“Evelyn…”

“Let’s go,” she croaked. “We have to find Leliana.”

They ran through yet more winding corridors, pausing only to battle more guards. It was not long before Evelyn heard the voice she was looking for at the far end of the hall.

“How did Trevelyan know of the sacrifice at the Temple? Answer!”

“Never!”

Evelyn sprinted toward the voices as she heard the spymaster scream.

“Talk! The Elder One demands answers!” Evelyn heard her laugh wickedly as she reached the door.

“He’ll get used to disappointment!”

“You will break!”

“I will _die_ first.”

She was hung by her wrists from the ceiling, a cultist holding a dagger to her throat. Her eyes were sunken in and her face, thin and wrinkled, was almost skeletal.

The cultist whipped around when he heard her enter, and Leliana swifty wrapped her legs around his throat and broke his neck. Evelyn grabbed the keys from the dead Venatori and wasted no time unlocking the chains that suspended her. 

“You’re alive,” Leliana whispered.

“We never died in the first place. Alexius miscalculated.”

“Then it will be his last mistake. Do you have weapons?” Evelyn nodded. The spymaster’s demeanor was cold and terrifyingly calm. 

“Good. The Magister’s probably in his chambers.” She walked over to a chest and retrieved a bow and quiver.

“You… aren’t curious how we got here?” Dorian asked.

“No.”

“Alexius sent us into the future. This, his victory, his Elder One - it was never meant to be.”

“I need to find Alexius and reverse the spell,” Evelyn added.

“If we can get back to our present time, we can prevent this future from ever happening.”

“And mages always wonder why people fear them,” Leliana said. “ _No one_ should have this power.”

“It’s dangerous and unpredictable. Before the breach, nothing we did-”

“Enough!” Leliana snapped. “This is all pretend to you, some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was _real._ ” What terrors had she been subjected to? What had Alexius _done?_

“Come on,” Evelyn said, shaking off the thought. “We need to find Alexius.”

The castle was filled with skeletons. They sat in chairs and hung from the ceiling, and Evelyn found them even more unnerving than the demons from the rifts. They passed by the docks and through the courtyard, fighting demons and sealing rifts as they went, before finally making it to the royal wing. Evelyn searched the rooms for Alexius, but instead found Connor, the Arl’s nephew, who turned himself to flames before her eyes.

“Connor!” she called, but it was too late.

“It was an act of courage. He knew there was no other way to resist. What a terrible waste,” Dorian said. It was all becoming too much, a waking nightmare she couldn’t escape from. All Evelyn could do was keep moving, keep fighting, let each horrible act drive her forward.

They descended into the lower wing, where they faced yet another hoard of demons and Venatori. Solas and Dorian cast spells, defending from a distance, while Evelyn, Cassandra, and Leliana attacked. Once the hall was clear, Evelyn bolted for the throne room door, only to find it locked with some sort of magic seal.

“Maker’s breath! Where did Alexius find this? How did he even move it here?” Dorian exclaimed.

“Can we open it?” Evelyn asked.

“Perhaps, but it looks quite strong. How desperate and paranoid must he be? His servants must have a way through. He has to eat. Let’s look around.”

They wandered the adjoining corridors, searching for the key to the door. Evelyn took out a lone Venatori guard, and found a small shard of red lyrium on his body.

“This must be it. It’s the same shape as the door.” She pulled a rag from her pocket and picked up the shard, not wanting to touch it even with her gloved hand. They snuck through the surrounding area, stealthily eliminating more Venatori until they had enough to open the door. It glowed when she placed the pieces in and slid open. The Magister stood in the front of the room, in nearly the same spot as when she had last seen him.

“It’s over, Alexius,” she growled. The sight of the man who had caused this nightmare filled her with unbridled rage. 

“I knew you would appear again,” he admitted. “Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.” Alexius hung his head and stared at the ground, not even turning to face them. It was pathetic.

“Was it worth it?” Dorian asked. “Everything you did to the world? To yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter now. All we can do is wait for the end.”

“It _does_ matter. I will undo this,” Evelyn said.

“How many times have I tried? The past cannot be undone. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death. There is nothing else. The Elder One comes; for me, for you, for us all.”

The sound of an unsheathing blade drew their attention. Leliana now stood behind Felix, a dagger to his throat.

“Felix!” Alexius cried.

“That’s Felix?” Dorian exclaimed. The boy looked nothing like himself, now sickly and pale. “Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?”

“He would have died, Dorian! I saved him! Please, don’t hurt my son! I’ll do anything you ask!”

“Leliana, let Felix go. He is innocent,” Evelyn commanded. The look in the spymaster’s eyes made her blood run cold.

“No one is innocent.”

Chaos erupted as she drew the dagger across his throat. Alexius blasted her backwards into the hall and tore open a rift in the fade with his spell. Demons poured from it, attacking from all sides. Evelyn leaped out of the way of a hostile spell, only to land at the foot of a terror demon. She swiped with her blade, causing it to fall, and then plunged the other into its chest. An arrow flew just past her head, and she spun around to see another demon fall to the ground beside her. Cassandra held off two on her own while Solas and Dorian battled Alexius, spells shooting over all of their heads. She ducked as one nearly hit her, sprinting toward the rift and slicing through demons along the way. 

“Cassandra, Leliana, cover me!”

The women blocked her as she held up the mark, energy tingling through her arm as she sealed the rift shut. Then she turned on Alexius.

She darted sporadically, narrowly avoiding the crossfire of spells as she closed in on the Magister. She leaped toward him and plunged her blade into his heart. Dorian knelt beside the lifeless form, looking sullen. 

“He wanted to die, didn’t he? All those lies he told himself, the justifications… He lost Felix long ago and didn’t even notice. Oh, Alexius…”

“I know you cared for him,” Evelyn said gently. She couldn’t imagine how hard this was for him.

“Once he was a man to whom I compared all others. Sad, isn’t it? This is the same amulet he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to open the rift.”

“An hour?” Leliana exclaimed. “That’s impossible! You must go now!”

The castle began to shake as the visceral call of demons filled the air. They were out of time.

“The Elder One.”

“You cannot stay here,” Solas said. “We’ll hold the outer door. When they get past us, it will be your turn.”

“We’ll make this count.” Evelyn was surprised how steady her voice sounded. They had no choice. 

“The only way we live is if this day never comes,” Leliana said. “Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

Cassandra and Solas closed themselves behind the throne room door, sealing the rest of them inside. Leliana took up position guarding the door as Dorian began the spell.

“Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame,” Leliana prayed as the hoard burst through the door. She released arrow after arrow, taking down as many demons and Venatori as she could. When she ran out, she smashed her bow against them, buying them any time she could. Evelyn started toward her, but Dorian grabbed her arm, holding her in place.

“You move, and we all die!”

The spinning green rift appeared beside them as Dorian focused his energy into the spell. Evelyn saw a demon grab Leliana, holding her at the throat, before Dorian pulled her through the rift.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Dorian said as they stepped into the throne room. Alexius sank to his knees in front of them.

“You failed, Alexius,” Evelyn seethed. “How forgiving _is_ your Elder One?” It took everything to keep from killing him right there.

“You’ve won. There is no point extending this charade. Felix…”

“It’s going to be alright, father,” the boy said, kneeling beside him.

“You’ll die!”

“Everyone dies.” Alexius hung his head in resignation as Inquisition soldiers escorted him out of the castle.

“Well,” Dorian said. “I’m glad that’s over.” He had spoken too soon, however, as Ferelden soldiers marched into the throne room.

“Or not.”

“Grand Enchanter, imagine how surprised I was to learn you’d given Redcliffe Castle away to a Tevinter Magister.”

“King Alistair!” Fiona gasped.

“ _Especially_ since I’m fairly sure Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan.” The King stood tall before them, wearing Ferelden furs and looking extremely angry. 

“Your Majesty, we never intended…”

“I know what you intended. I wanted to help you, but you’ve made it impossible.” He stared at her, resolute. “You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden.”

“But… we have hundreds who need protection! Where will we go?”

“You’ll be leaving here with the Inquisition,” Evelyn said, stepping forward. She hadn’t intended on meeting the Ferelden King covered in demon blood, but it seemed it wasn’t to be avoided.

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” Fiona asked.

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you,” Dorian said. “The Inquisition is better than that, yes?”

“I suggest conscripting them. They’ve proven what they’ll do, given too much freedom,” Cassandra said. Solas disagreed.

“They have lost all possible supporters. The Inquisition is their only remaining chance at freedom.”

“It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer.” Fiona said. Evelyn sensed the fear behind her proud demeanor.

“We would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side.” The Grand Enchanter seemed skeptical, but pleased. 

“I’ll pray that the rest of the Inquisition honors your promise, then.”

“The breach threatens all of Thedas. We cannot afford to be divided now. We can’t fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support.”

“I’d take that offer, if I were you,” the King said. “One way or another, you’re leaving my kingdom.” Fiona bowed her head sadly. 

“We accept. It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven. The breach will be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance.” The mage smiled for the first time since Evelyn had met her. 

“Your Majesty.” Evelyn bowed formally to King Alistair, then led her party from the castle. 

“We will discuss this later,” Cassandra said shortly as they exited. Evelyn sighed. It seemed the war room would be quite fun when they returned.


	7. The Battle of Haven

They didn’t even make it to the war room.

In fact, Evelyn hadn’t even made it to the Chantry before she had to intervene in Leliana’s plan to have a traitorous scout killed. She barely managed to convince the spymaster that more death wouldn’t help the situation, and when she finally _did_ enter the Chantry, she found nobody was more displeased with her decision in Redcliffe than the Commander. Arguments had been circling ever since, and Evelyn was on her last nerve. 

“It’s not a matter for debate. There will be abominations among the mages and we must be prepared.” 

“Would you be more confident if I’d brought back Templars instead?” Evelyn jabbed. 

“I’d be less worried about the thin veil resulting in mass possessions.” He stood across from her, chest puffed up angrily. Evelyn folded her arms and snorted, tucking her tongue into her cheek.

“If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst.” The Ambassador’s words did nothing to diffuse the situation. Cullen was clearly done yet.

“What were you thinking, turning the mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open!” 

“What was _I_ thinking?” Evelyn shot back. “Perhaps that the mages aren’t _monsters_ , Cullen, they’re _people_ and they deserve the same respect as anyone else.”

“This is not about _respect_. Even the strongest mages can be overcome by demons in conditions like these. You were there Seeker, why didn’t you intervene?” He turned on Cassandra now, who held the appearance of someone facing down an animal about to strike.

“While I may not completely agree with the decision, I support it. The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.” 

“And you’re not worried about abominations running rampant?” 

“That’s _enough_!” Evelyn warned. “Our mages would be at greater risk with the Templars.”

“Templars are trained for this exact purpose! We’ll need to train more of them now that you’ve turned mages loose in Haven!”

“ _No_.” Evelyn glared at him, eyes turning to ice. 

“And why not?”

“Because mages don’t cause abominations. _Templars_ do.”

“What?” Cullen exclaimed. He began to protest, but Evelyn rounded on him before he could speak, venom dripping from every word.

“You were in the worst Circle in southern Thedas. Mages were rounded up like animals, stripped of their freedoms, abused behind closed doors, and what did the Chantry do to stop it? Not a _damn thing,_ Cullen, that’s what! They turned to blood magic as a last resort, because they _had no other choice._ Had they been treated with basic human decency, abominations wouldn’t have been a problem. The more freedom they have, the safer they are. If anything, by allying with them instead of conscripting them, I’ve _reduced_ the risks, so you should be _thankful,_ seeing as that’s your biggest concern. And Maker forbid we have a mage get possessed, I will take care of it _myself._ I will _not_ start a Circle within the Inquisition. _Do I make myself clear, Commander?”_

Cullen stepped backward as she advanced, more furious than he had ever seen her. And Evelyn _was_ furious. Did he really think she would let him treat their allies in such a way? Did he trust her so little? He opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it again, shifting his gaze downward shamefully. 

“The voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was just beginning to enjoy the circular arguments.” Evelyn turned to find Dorian leaning against one of the wooden beams, smiling smugly.

“Closing the breach is all that matters,” Cassandra said simply, trying to avoid further arguing.

“I got a taste of the consequences if we fail,” Evelyn said, avoiding Cullen’s eyes. “Let’s make sure we don’t.”

“We will _not_ fail,” Cassandra assured.

“We should look into the things you saw in this ‘dark future,’” Leliana said. “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?” 

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. Orlais falls, the Imperium rises, chaos for everyone!” Dorian had a talent for keeping a playful tone when his words were anything but.

“One battle at a time,” Evelyn heard Cullen say from behind her. “It’s going to take some time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room.” 

“We should break for the day,” Josephine said delicately. “The Herald has been through much at Redcliffe. Let’s all clear our heads and begin planning in the morning.” Evelyn silently thanked both the Maker and Andraste for Josephine’s perceptiveness - she did _not_ want to be in close quarters with the Commander at the moment. 

“I’ll skip the war council, but I _would_ like to see the breach up close, if you don’t mind,” Dorian said.

“Then you’re… staying?” Evelyn asked the mage, hopeful. He smiled.

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The south is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.”

“I must admit, I’m surprised.” 

“We both saw what could happen, what this ‘Elder One’ and his cult are trying to do. Not _everything_ from Tevinter is terrible. Some of us have fought for aeons against this sort of madness. It’s my duty to stand with you. That future will _not_ come to pass.” Evelyn grinned.

“There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present.”

“Excellent choice! But let’s not get ‘stranded’ again anytime soon, yes?”

“I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit. Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory,” Cullen said sheepishly. 

“Good. Are we finished then?” Evelyn said curtly.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Herald,” Josephine said. “We will return to work in the morning.” 

“Thank you. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

She turned sharply on her heel and left the Chantry, all eyes following her as she left. 

“Well. _She’s_ fun, in a terrifying sort of way,” Dorian said.

“Certainly a spitfire,” Leliana agreed. “She reminds me of an old friend. Don’t you agree, Cullen?”

“Who…?” Cullen began, but stopped as the memory came to him.

_I would rather spare maleficarum than risk harming an innocent. I will not have the blood of innocents on my hands._

She had said those words to him that horrible night all those years ago, as he cowered in fear within the tower. She’d carried herself with that same noble grace, and her eyes had held a ferocity that he hadn’t seen since. Until now.

“Cousland,” he groaned. Maker! He was a fool.

“Teyrn?” Dorian asked. Leliana smiled.

“No, Her Majesty, Queen Evangeline Cousland Theirin, Commander of the Grey and Hero of Ferelden.”

***

Cullen swung hard at the training dummy, knocking it off the post with his sword. It had been days since his argument with Evelyn in the Chantry, and they hadn’t spoken since. She avoided his eyes in the war room and left quickly once they were done, clearly still angry.

And she was right to be.

Cullen moved to another target, striking just as hard as before. Luckily this one remained standing, and survived his repeated assaults.

When she had arrived back to Haven and told them of the horrible things she had experienced at Redcliffe Castle, his first reaction had been guilt. She was obviously shaken. Her voice wavered, fear settling in behind her eyes as she recounted the horrors she had endured, and it broke him. Cullen had known it was a horrible plan, and yet he allowed it to happen. He had put her in danger. Had Dorian not been there, she likely would have died in that horrible future, and with her all hope for Thedas. 

Guilt quickly mutated to fear, and then rage at what these Tevinter mages had planned. As Cullen thought of her, trapped in a nightmare, his thoughts had spiraled to that day in Kinloch that tormented him each night - when, encased in magic, Cullen had struggled against the tortures of the demons the Circle mages had summoned, suffocating in their spell. 

And he snapped.

Cullen swung harder. His blade lodged itself within the wooden post, and he ripped it out angrily before continuing his assault. 

He had let his fear cloud his judgement when Evelyn said she offered the mages an alliance, and he had acted like an ass. He had deserved every word she had hurled at him, but the cold fire that had burned in her eyes as she reprimanded him had left him wounded. Foolish pride kept him from apologizing that day, and cowardice in the days that followed. Josephine had warned him of the Trevelyan temper, but it was only now apparent to him what it meant to be on the receiving end. It was worse knowing it had been deserved.

“You should probably leave some dummies for the recruits, Curly.”

Cullen paused his assault and found Varric standing a safe distance behind him. He stabbed his sword into the ground.

“The mages should be ready to march on the summit soon. How are you doing?”

“I’m…” 

Cullen paused when he saw Evelyn through the open gates, talking animatedly with the Tevinter mage. They paused in their walk momentarily when she caught Cullen’s eye, but continued on when he avoided her gaze, disappearing once again behind the walls. Varric glanced between them, shaking his head.

“You still haven’t apologized?”

“She’s been spending an awful lot of time with Dorian, lately, hasn’t she?” Cullen muttered. Ever since her return, the two had been inseparable. They were often seen wandering together through Haven, conversing in the flirtatious way of the nobility, or taking their meals together. Cullen found it endlessly irritating. 

“You haven’t apologized,” Varric said, ignoring his comment. Cullen stared at the ground and scratched at his neck uncomfortably. 

“I… no,” he admitted with a heavy sigh.

“Are you… _afraid?_ Come on, Curly, what’s the worst she could do?”

Glare at him with those icy eyes again. Yell at him. Express her disappointment. Hate him forever.

And perhaps he would deserve it.

“I’ve tried, Varric, but every time I come close, I…” How could he explain how nervous she made him? He could barely function around her when she _wasn’t_ mad at him, but now? It was impossible.

“She has every right to be angry with me. She was right about all of it. I treated the mages unfairly, I judged them too harshly, I didn’t act soon enough in Kirkwall. I can apologize to her, but it won’t fix all I’ve done.”

“Ah, the good old guilt complex. You know, you and Hawke had more in common than you think.” Cullen snorted. “I mean it, Curly. The only thing you can do right now is apologize. Once you’ve done that, then you can try to do better with the rest.” 

“This wisdom seems a bit uncharacteristic, Varric.”

“What can I say? I love a good story.” Cullen smiled weakly. “Oh, and Curly? Try to stop glaring at Dorian. Jealousy doesn't look good on you.”

***

Evelyn stood in the Chantry, strapping herself into her armor as she waited for the others. They would be leaving for the breach shortly. Evelyn only hoped she and the mages would be enough to seal it. 

“Greetings, Herald of Andraste,” a voice said from behind her. Evelyn turned to find Mother Giselle smiling warmly at her. It was… oddly comforting.

“Hello, Mother Giselle,” she replied.

“How fare’s your quest to seal the breach? You are to be leaving shortly?” 

_Damned if I know._ Evelyn gave a wry smile. 

“Oh, you know how these things go,” she joked. “At least, I hope _someone_ does.”

“You laugh to bring a little light into the darkness. And I am glad to see it. Too many see laughter as antithetical to the Chant of Light. They imagine Andraste as a grim warrior all her life, forgetting she loved and was loved in return. I hope she found time for laughter during her trials. As I hope you do.”

“You keep talking as though I’m the equal of Andraste. Do you know how unnerving that is?” 

“I can only imagine. But we are all given to our purpose under the Maker. A sword does not ask to be forged. And frankly, if such a comparison gives you pause, I do not see that as a bad thing. In any case, I pray for you, Herald. May you walk in the Maker’s light.”

Evelyn watched her leave, somehow feeling even more nervous than before. Josephine joined her, filling her in on some final details before she left for the summit. As they stood by her office, Evelyn noticed Cullen speaking with Fiona at the far end by the door.

“Was I too hard on him?” she asked the Ambassador. Josephine seemed surprised by her question, but understood when she followed Evelyn’s gaze down the hall. She placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“The Commander is an intelligent, cautious man. I’m grateful he’s in charge of our standing army. Still, he does sometimes resemble the man with a hammer to whom everything appears as a nail.”

“The mages are not a nail.”

“I know, Lady Trevelyan. Perhaps you have given the Commander more tools to work with?” Evelyn sighed.

“I hope so.”

“Me too. Come, it’s time.”

As they approached the Chantry doors, Evelyn saw the mages and soldiers gathered outside. Cullen had organized them well, and they appeared ready to go, most watching her with anticipation. 

They still only had a few horses, so she, Cullen, Cassandra, and Solas would be riding out front. Fiona had elected to walk with the mages, and the others would follow behind. Evelyn gracefully mounted her horse and nudged it with her heels, urging it forward. Cullen rode beside her, and Cassandra and Solas settled directly behind them.

“I’ve… been meaning to… ” Cullen started after a few silent minutes, looking around uncomfortably. 

“Cullen, you don’t have to-”

“No, I do. You were right. I was an ass. I judged the mages unfairly, both here and in Kirkwall. It’s about time I right my wrongs. I meant it when I said I wanted to be a better man. I want to let you know that I apologized to the Grand Enchanter, as well as apologize to you. I should have thanked you for securing aid, and instead I reprimanded you for it. You were right about everything. I’m sorry, Evelyn.” He bowed his head shamefully and scratched at his neck, the way he did when he was uncomfortable. Evelyn sighed.

“Cullen…” she said softly. It was one thing for him to apologize to her, but another that he had done so to Fiona as well. Perhaps the Commander _did_ have more tools than a hammer. Evelyn was glad of it. “Apology accepted.”

“Really?”

“Really. If you truly mean it, and your apology was enough for the mages, then it’s enough for me. I admire someone who can admit when they’re wrong and try to do better. Maker knows I struggle with it myself. I meant what I said in the tavern that night - an effort to change always deserves a chance. I’m sorry as well. I could have approached things differently.” 

“There’s no need to apologize. You were right. It seems I needed a push.” 

“Does that mean…? ”

“I will protect the Inquisition and its mage allies however I can. Currently, that means I’ll be meeting with the Grand Enchanter regularly to discuss the best ways to support them while the veil is torn. I’ve met with Solas as well, since he seems knowledgeable about it. We’ve already formed some ideas.”

“I’m proud of you, Cullen.” He smiled bashfully, and Evelyn was relieved that the tension of the past few days was finally over. She only hoped he was as good as his word. 

***

Cullen’s nerves heightened as they took up position around the Temple. Whatever brief peace had been found when Evelyn had accepted his apology was now gone as she approached the breach. Her hand sparked more violently with every step forward, the breach itself twisting ominously above them all. Though her expression was outwardly calm, her pallor had gone pale, and she shook her hand nervously. He caught her gaze and offered a reassuring nod, but even he didn’t believe it.

The truth was, he was afraid. As he stood with the soldiers, swords drawn and ready should any demons appear, he cursed the writhing green sky and the danger it put her in. He preferred a foe that he could face with a sword. Perhaps then he would feel better, knowing he could be of some use, but as it was, Evelyn had to do this alone. His hopes and fears tangled and knotted in the pit of his stomach. And he hated it.

_Maker, let this work._

“Mages!” Cassandra called, gaining their attention. They were lined up in front of where she and Solas now stood, as Evelyn slowly approached the breach.

“Focus past the Herald!” Solas instructed. “Let her will draw from you!”

Her hand sparked as the mages flooded her body with their magic. Webs of green struggled against her as thick ropes of energy burst from the mark and latched on to the rift. The beams of light fought with the spiraling green of the breach, twisting and churning, and Cullen felt his heart stop as she cried out, falling to her knees as a blinding white blast filled the sky around them. 

He instinctively covered his eyes with his arm, shrinking away from the light as the force knocked them all backwards. He clambered to his feet as it faded, searching frantically for her as he stood. 

Evelyn knelt, hunched over, with one hand on the ground and the other resting on her knee. Cullen breathed a sigh of relief when Cassandra pulled her to her feet. They exchanged unknown words as she turned to the crowd of mages and soldiers, who erupted into cheers. She had done it.

Her eyes panned the crowd until they landed on him, her grin widening as she met his own. For once, Cullen didn’t shy away from her gaze.

***

Evelyn stood on a stone ledge, observing the merriment from above. It was snowing gently, but that didn’t deter the the people of Haven, who had wasted no time in beginning their celebration. They danced and drank, off-balanced and rosy cheeked, with not a care in the world beyond a night of joy to mark that they had survived. 

Though she wished to join them, a nagging feeling in the pit of Evelyn’s stomach prevented it. It wasn’t just the way they looked to her, as though she was Andraste herself, though she found that unsettling as well. The true reason was an aching in her gut, an instinct she couldn’t shake, that something wasn’t right.

“Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm. The breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism has spread,” Cassandra said, wandering to her side from behind. She joined her in watching the people from afar.

“We don’t know what caused this. We can’t rest easy,” Evelyn replied.

“I agree. One success does not guarantee peace. The immediate danger is gone. For some, so is the necessity of this alliance. We must be wary. The Inquisition will need new focus.”

Alarm bells jolted Evelyn before she could respond, ringing deafeningly throughout Haven. The villagers panicked, dropping their mugs and screaming as they ran. 

“Forces approaching! To arms!” she heard Cullen call over the chaos. 

“Wha-” Cassandra began, sharing a confused glance with Evelyn. “We must get to the gates!”

Evelyn grabbed her helm from where she had dropped it on the ground and secured it onto her head. They unsheathed their blades and ran down the steps, weaving their way through fleeing villagers. 

“Cullen?” Cassandra questioned as they reached the gate. 

“One watchguard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk of it over the mountain,” the Commander said grimly, pointing into the distance. 

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked, arriving with Leliana just as they did.

“None,” Cullen replied.

“None?” 

Evelyn gulped, taking no pleasure in knowing her instinct had been correct. As they tried to process what was happening, someone began to bang forcefully against the gate.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” a voice yelled. Evelyn rushed to open the gate, only to find an odd looking boy behind it. He was ghostly pale and wore a strange, wide-brimmed hat and ragged clothes. He couldn’t be much older than twenty. 

“I’m Cole,” he said. “I came to warn you, to help! People are coming to hurt you! You probably already know-”

“What is this? What’s going on?” Evelyn demanded.

“The Templars come to kill you.”

“Templars?” Cullen roared. He stepped toward the boy. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

“The Red Templars went to the Elder One,” Cole explained. “You know him? He knows _you._ You took his mages. _There!”_

He pointed up the mountain. Evelyn could make out a menacing figure and a man in the distance behind the advancing army, but the creature was too far away to make out much detail.

“I know that man,” Cullen said, “but this Elder One…”

“He’s very angry that you took his mages.”

“Cullen, give me a plan, anything!” Evelyn said, trying not to panic. 

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster we _must_ control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can.” The man who blushed at her teasing was gone, replaced with a hardened warrior and master tactician. He drew his blade and turned to address their gathered troops.

“Mages! You have sanction to engage them. That is Samson, he will not make it easy. Inquisition, with the Herald! _For your_ _lives_ , _for all of us!_ ” Cullen’s voice roared through the air as the troops released wild battle cries. 

“Vivienne, Cassandra, and Varric, with me,” Evelyn commanded. “Everyone else, guard the gates. Protect the villagers as best you can. Let’s go.”

Her party ran for the nearest trebuchet in the training yard. Inquisition soldiers manned it, aiming it toward the advancing army.

“Almost ready!” a soldier called. “Keep them off us!”

Evelyn positioned herself near the trebuchet, defending the soldiers as the Red Templars attacked. Some glowed the same eerie red she remembered from Redcliffe, and some were horrors, mutated by the red lyrium that jutted from their skin, appearing not unlike demons from the Fade. They held off waves of Templars until the soldiers finished their task, firing into the bulk of the horde in the mountains.

“They felt that!” the soldier said. “We’ll reload. You get to the other trebuchet, it isn’t firing!”

Evelyn led her team down the path toward the southern trebuchet. Once there, the problem was apparent - it was swarmed by Red Templars, and some of their own lay dead beside it. Evelyn cut down the nearest Templar as Varric fired Bianca rapidly at enemy soldiers. When it seemed her team had things controlled, she ran for the trebuchet, hurriedly aiming it while Cassandra, Vivienne, and Varric kept any straggling Templars back, with the help of Inquisition soldiers that had joined them.

“Ready to fire!” Evelyn yelled as she pulled the lever. It launched into the side of the mountain, which trembled on impact. The avalanche was immediate, racing down onto the army and burying many beneath the snow.

Varric patted her on the back as the soldiers cheered, but the victory was short lived. A roar bellowed above them, where the form of a colossal black dragon flew. They dove away as the creature blasted the trebuchet with flame, the weapon shattering on impact.

“A hasty retreat would be in order!” Vivienne called over the sounds of fighting and flapping wings. 

“Everyone to the gates!” Evelyn yelled. They ran back up the path toward Haven, pausing only to bash open the door to the forge to allow Harritt to grab some necessities. 

“Everyone inside! Move it, _move it!”_ Cullen shouted as they darted through the gates. As soon as they were through, he slammed the doors shut and bolted them. “We need everyone back to the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against… that _beast!_ ” Cullen started up the stairs, turning back only momentarily to address them, anger and defeat in his eyes. “At this point, just make them work for it.” 

“Best run, dear. The villagers will slow you down,” Vivienne said grimly.

“Let them.” Evelyn ran to the right, cutting down Red Templars as she went. The assailants climbed over the spiked wooden wall, but Evelyn caught them with her blade as they dropped down. Her team followed behind, supporting her onslaught with their own, until the area was cleared. Evelyn extended a hand to Lysette, pulling her up from the ground.

“Good work, Herald!” she praised. “Protect the Chantry!”

They ran back the other way and up the stairs. In the commotion, they heard a voice yelling from a burning cabin.

“Help! Someone help!”

“Seggrit!” Evelyn called. Cassandra climbed a ladder and dropped through the open roof into the blaze as more Templars approached from behind. Evelyn, Varric, and Vivienne fought them off as Cassandra burst through the door with Seggrit.

“Run to the Chantry!” she instructed him. He took off up the stairs as the party ran the other way. Soon, Evelyn heard Flissa’s voice, screaming in fear inside the tavern. She ran into the blaze, coughing as the smoke filled her lungs and stung her eyes. She found Flissa trapped beneath fallen beams as the building cracked dangerously.

“Get it… get it off! It’s coming down!”

Even with her gloves, Evelyn could feel the heat in the beams as she heaved them upwards, keeping them elevated long enough for Flissa to crawl out from under them.

“I knew you’d come! We are all blessed!” The compliment felt like a knife to the gut.

“Get to the Chantry. Find Commander Cullen.”

More screams of terror led Evelyn toward the apothecary as the dragon set the building ablaze. Adan and Minaeve laid in the snow, unable to move, as the fire spread toward the stacked pots of oil between them. Evelyn ran to Minaeve, wrapping her arm around her waist to support her. Cassandra did the same with Adan, and they rushed them away just as the pots exploded. 

The party reached the Chantry doors just as another group of Templars attacked the quartermaster and a few soldiers. They dropped Adan and Minaeve with those in the Chantry and ran into the fray.

“Come on, monsters!” Threnn yelled, attacking with ferocity. Evelyn caught one in the side with one dagger, then sunk the other into the Templar’s chest. They fought them off with fervor and rapid assaults until they had taken them all down.

“Thank you,” Threnn said. “These shits almost had me. Let’s go.” 

With everyone safe, they ran past Chancellor Roderick into the Chantry. Evelyn stood by the doors until everyone was in, then shut it behind them. The Chancellor fell into Cole, who supported him as he led him to a chair. 

“He tried to stop a Templar,” Cole explained. “The blade went deep. He’ll die soon.”

“What a… charming...boy,” the Chancellor said weakly. 

Evelyn shifted heavily, exhausted. She was covered in blood and soot. It seemed those who had made it to the Chantry were in much the same condition. 

“Herald!” Cullen called, running toward her. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an archdemon,” Cole said. “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”  
  
“I don’t care what it looks like! It’s cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven!” 

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald,” Cole said simply.

“If it will save these people, he can have me,” Evelyn said. Her eyes shifted from the wounded lying on the stone floor to the soldiers who weren’t quite succeeding at keeping a brave face. 

“It won’t. He wants to kill you. No one else matters but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like…?” Cullen shook his head and sighed in frustration. “Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“We’re overrun,” Evelyn said. “To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.” Cullen was resolute.

“We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

“Yes, that,” Cole whispered. They turned to the boy, who was still crouched by the Chancellor. 

“Chancellor Roderick can help,” he said. “He wants to say it before he dies.”

“There is a path. You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have.” The Chancellor forced himself to his feet, the pain of the exertion clear on his face. “The people _can_ escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could… tell you.”

“What about it, Cullen? Will it work?” Evelyn asked.

“Possibly. _If_ he shows us the path. But what of your escape?”

Evelyn wished she had looked away sooner. Her resolve had faltered for just a moment, but it was long enough for the realization to dawn on Cullen. She would have given anything not to have seen the anguish in his eyes as he stared at her, both knowing this was their only chance. Cullen had to lead them out, and she had to remain. It was the only way.

“Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…” he said. The words were hollow, strained. They delayed for a few selfish seconds, taking in the sight of each other. Then, Cullen turned to address the survivors.

“Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry! Move!”

“Herald,” Chancellor Roderick said as he passed, clinging to Cole for support, “If you are meant for this, if the _Inquisition_ is meant for this, I pray for you.” 

“They’ll load the trebuchets,” Cullen said as a small group of soldiers passed her on the way out the door. “Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the treeline. If we are to have a chance - if _you_ are to have a chance - let that thing hear you.” The confidence of the Commander was broken with a crack in his voice. “Evelyn…”

“Keep them safe, Cullen,” she said, turning her back to him. Evelyn knew if she looked at him any longer she would falter. “Go, now!”

She stepped out of the Chantry with her blades drawn, fighting every urge to look back. Her party followed, a grim silence enveloping them as they closed the doors behind them.

“Help me get to the trebuchet and guard me as I aim it. When I tell you to run, you run back to the Chantry and follow the others. You do not argue. You do not disobey. Am I understood?” Evelyn stared forward, not meeting anyone’s eyes as she heard them voice somber assent. “Good. Let’s move.”

They ran for the remaining trebuchet, withstanding assaults from scattered groups of Red Templars as they went. The fires had spread through the village, toppling buildings along their path. When they reached their destination, the party found it loaded, but not aimed. The bodies of Inquisition soldiers were scattered on the ground. 

Rage filled Evelyn as she stabbed at wave after wave of Red Templars and horrific, lyrium infected creatures. She danced around a huge monstrosity, seeking out and striking at weak points, while Cassandra kept its attention. Varric fired bolts at reinforcements, and Vivienne protected them with healing spells and barriers, sometimes casting a lightning chain that tore through their enemies. As the last Templar fell, Evelyn ran to the trebuchet. She turned the crank, aiming it toward the mountains, and finished just as the dragon approached overhead.

“Go!” she yelled to her party.

“Herald-”

“ _Now!_ ”

Reluctantly, they turned and ran for the Chantry. Evelyn silently prayed she could hold out long enough for them to escape. She dove away as the beast blasted the ground with flame, and landed heavily on her back. 

Evelyn scrambled to her feet as a figure approached through the blaze. The Elder One was a huge, twisted creature. Lyrium shards protruded from his face and chest, and his arms and hands were gaunt and draconic. The ground shook as she stood, and when she turned, the dragon loomed above her, shrieking menacingly. 

“Enough!” The Elder One called. Evelyn whipped around, heart racing, as he approached. 

“Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

“What are you? Why are you doing this?” Evelyn yelled. 

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I _was_ . Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the will that is Corypheus! You _will_ kneel.”

“Why are you here? You haven’t even asked for anything!” She stared him down, unyielding. She would find out what he wanted, and she would not go down without a fight. 

“I ask for nothing, because it is not in your power to give. But that won’t stop me.” He held a silver orb in his skeletal hand, which glowed that same sickly red. “I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it begins now.” 

Evelyn lurched forward as his magic tugged at the anchor. Pain shot from her hand up through her arm, like fire through her veins. She gritted her teeth as she fell to her knees, arm outstretched as he pulled her.

“It is your fault, ‘Herald.’ You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched,’ what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens. And you used the anchor to undo my work. The gall!”

“What is this thing meant to do?” Evelyn forced out through the pain. She could feel the dragon growing nearer.

“It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.” He bounded toward her and grabbed her arm, yanking her into the air. She dangled in his grasp, holding in a scream of agony. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more! I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods, and _it was empty._ ”

He threw her hard against the trebuchet, and Evelyn yelped as the pain wracked her body. She hit the ground with a thud, vision blurring from the impact. She forced herself to her knees and crawled to retrieve a nearby sword, then struggled to her feet, leaning on the trebuchet for support. The creature and his dragon drew closer, and she held up the weapon defensively.

“The anchor is permanent,” the Elder One said. “You have spoiled it with your stumbling. So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation - and _god_ \- it requires. And _you._ I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. _You must die._ ”

A bright flare shot through the sky over the mountains, signaling the escape from the Chantry had been successful. Evelyn pushed herself to stand fully, steeling herself for what had to be done. 

“Your arrogance blinds you. Good to know. If I’m dying, it’s not today!”

Evelyn kicked the lever and launched the trebuchet, striking into the mountains. As the Elder One fled the impending avalanche, she ran, ignoring the pain that coursed through her body with every step. As the slide overtook her, she jumped, crashing through a wooden structure as the snow buried her within.

  
  



	8. Skyhold

Cullen sat in the camp, staring into the flames of the small fire before him. It had been silent for hours, with the exception of groans of pain coming from the wounded in Mother Giselle’s makeshift infirmary, and the chattering of teeth from the harsh mountain cold. It had been a miracle, he had been assured, that as many survived Haven as they did. Cullen knew better. It wasn’t a miracle. It was her.

Evelyn had fearlessly faced hordes of Red Templars to save the people of Haven. She had run into burning buildings to free those trapped within. She leaped into the heart of the battle to man the trebuchets and stop an advancing army. The fact that any of them had survived was not a miracle - it was all _her_. The guilt Cullen felt overwhelmed him. He had accepted death. Defeat was inevitable. But then, a last idea had come to her upon the discovery that there was an escape route below the Chantry.

_What about it, Cullen? Will it work?_

Yes, it would. But she would die. She knew there would be no survival, he saw it in her eyes, and it gutted him, sharper than any knife. He knew when she left it would be the last time he saw her, so he wasted precious moments taking her in, memorizing her face. He knew when he sent up the flare that he had condemned her to her fate. Her sacrifice had saved them all.

And he had failed her.

Everything was a blur to him now. Cullen had led the survivors through the mountains to a place far enough away to make camp. They had few supplies, but it would have to do for the night. The wounded were cared for first, and then the villagers and the soldiers. His training served him well, and he did so methodically, mechanically, while his mind wandered.

He thought of lingering glances across the training yard and sunlight on her hair. The way she spoke with him, withholding all judgements, genuine, kind, and forgiving when he didn’t deserve it. The blush that had crept up his neck, threatening to give him away, at her flirtations. How close they had come, bodies pressed together in the snow, his heart racing from the desire to claim her lips with his own. A final glance in a doomed Chantry, knowing he would never know what it was that was forming between them.

Maker, she deserved better.

Morale was low. With the death of the Herald, it was difficult to find something positive in the situation. They had lost their people, base, and some their homes.

Cullen rose to his feet, feeling the need to move. Perhaps walking would distract him. 

It didn’t help. As he wandered through their makeshift encampment, the sights only solidified the depth of his failure. The people huddled for warmth around small fires, still covered in blood and ash. Some wept, their bodies heaving with each strangled sob. Others stared blankly at nothing, lost in shock. As he approached the tent where Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine stood, he found them silent as well, unsure of what to do next.

As he neared the tent, Cullen thought his eyes had betrayed him - a figure in the snow, hunched and trudging toward them, a faint green glow in the distance. But he was sure. It could be no one else. His heart leapt.

“It’s her!” he cried, running as fast as his legs would take him. Cassandra bounded after him through the snow.

“Thank the Maker!” 

Evelyn was shivering violently, her lips blue from the cold. She lost her footing and fell heavily to her knees before him. There was blood in her hair, frozen stiff from the frigid, howling wind, her helm long gone.

“C…Cullen?” she said weakly, voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s alright,” he assured her, blinking back a tear. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Evelyn managed a weak smile before exhaustion overcame her and she collapsed into his arms.

Cullen hadn’t realized the relief that had flooded him until it dissolved into panic. She was frozen, and appeared halfway to the Maker’s side. 

“Find Solas. Now!” he ordered, pulling her to him and racing back to camp. He held her near the fire and wrapped her tightly within his mantle, cradling her in his arms while the others prepared a tent. 

“Bring her in,” Solas instructed once everything was in order. The tent was larger than the others, allowing space for more healers if necessary. Cullen set her down gently on the cot, then shut the flap behind them. Solas conjured a fire in the center for warmth.

“I’ve placed a ward around the flames so they won’t spread. No need to worry about burning the tent down,” the mage said simply. “I need to examine her. Perhaps you should leave.”

“I’d prefer to stay.”

“Cullen, I must undress her to check for wounds. Surely it would be best for you to return once I’m finished?” 

“Perhaps Mother Giselle should-”

“You’ll recall I tended to her after the Conclave? It is nothing I haven’t already seen.”

“I’ll... be outside,” Cullen grumbled, reddening as he exited.

He tried to be useful. He wandered the camp distributing the few blankets not currently in use, but that was all he could manage before worry brought him back to Evelyn’s tent.

“Why don’t you sit, Commander? All that pacing is making me anxious,” Dorian said after a while. The mage sat on a makeshift bench before a fire, not far from where Cullen had created a deep trench in the snow.

“I… perhaps you’re right.” 

Cullen sat, running a hand aimlessly through his hair. He was exhausted, but there would be no rest for him until he knew Evelyn was safe.

“You care for her,” Dorian said. Cullen opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Dorian saved him the trouble. “No need to deny it. She’s a remarkable woman. You’d be a fool not to.”

“Does that apply to you as well?” Cullen asked curtly. It was tactless, he knew, but tact was never his strongest skill. Especially after a night as trying as this.

“Evelyn knows what it means to grow up in nobility and the... _expectations_ that come with it, so we’ve become friends. You needn’t trouble yourself, it’s nothing more than that.”

“Wouldn’t that make you a fool, then?”

“Something like that,” Dorian said cheekily, as though he were the only one in on a joke. “But if you’re still looking for something to be jealous of, might I recommend my wit and charm?” 

Solas emerged from the tent, saving Cullen from responding. The innermost members of the Inquisition gathered quickly, all awaiting news.

“She is stable,” he said. Cullen felt the knot in his stomach loosen. “She has a lot of bruising, and I suspect a cracked rib. I’ve done what I can for now. When she awakens she’ll need a regeneration potion, but for the time being she is safe. I’m going to tend to the others. Find me immediately when she wakes.” Cullen breathed a sigh of relief. Evelyn would live. 

When he entered the tent, she was tucked to her chin in a fur blanket. From what he could tell, Solas had cleaned her well. The soot and blood he had seen on her face and hair were gone, and her armor, worn and tattered, sat discarded in the corner. Some color had returned to her lips and cheeks. If he hadn’t known better, he might think she was sleeping peacefully.

His mantle had been folded and set down on the stool beside her cot. Cullen put it back on, then sat down beside her, taking comfort in the steady rising and falling of her breathing.

She was safe. Evelyn was safe.

“I won’t fail you again,” he told her, sad and soft. There could not be another Haven. He would not let it happen. There was nothing he could do now, however, so he bowed his head in prayer, thanking the Maker for their survival. For _her_ survival. Then he allowed his mind to wander to better days and battle plans, desperately trying to think of a way forward from here. It was here that Varric and Leliana found him, deep in thought. 

“You share a likeness with Her Majesty’s mabari, guarding her like that,” Leliana said. Cullen shifted uncomfortably. He had lost track of how long he had sat there, but it must have been a while judging by the way his muscles protested when he moved. “How is she?”

“She hasn’t woken yet, but Solas has done well. She’s fine for the moment.” 

“You should rest, Cullen. It’s been hours. I’m about to make the attempt myself.” Cullen shook his head.

“Nightingale is right, Curly. I can sit with her for a while. You can’t stay up forever,” Varric offered.

“I’m fine,” Cullen yawned unconvincingly. “I’d rather stay. Would you like me to inform you when she wakes?” he asked.

“Yes. Please,” Leliana said. “Thank you, Cullen.” 

The spymaster disappeared, leaving Varric behind.

“I don’t know how she made it here. If the avalanche didn’t kill her, the trek through the mountains should have. It’s a miracle,” he said, following after Leliana.

“Yes,” Cullen mused, alone again. “She _is_ a miracle.”

***

_Hot._

That was the first thing Evelyn noticed when she awoke - the stifling heat of the blankets that covered her and the sweat that caused her hair to cling to her forehead. 

The next was a weight at her feet, and when she looked, she was surprised to find Cullen asleep on a stool, his upper body leaning onto the corner of the cot. She tried to sit up, but gasped loudly as the pain shot through her side. The sound woke him, and he jolted upright. 

“Cullen?” Evelyn said weakly. His usually well-groomed hair was disheveled, and his eyes dark with exhaustion. 

“I’m here. Are you alright?” he asked, scooting his stool up closer to her head, eyes filled with worry. 

“I’ve… been better. How long…?”

“Only through the night. Sunrise was just a few hours ago.”

“Have you been here all night?” Evelyn asked. It was no wonder he looked so tired. He stared into his lap as he spoke.

“I left while Solas tended to you, but after that… yes, I have,” he said sheepishly. “He said I should inform him when you woke, so I should probably-”

“Cullen, wait,” she said, reaching for his hand to stop him as he stood. He knelt beside her immediately as she hissed from the pain of the quick motion. “Thank you. You didn’t have to stay here all night. Please get some rest.”

“Evelyn, don’t worry about me, I’m f-”

“Promise me.”

He glanced from their still joined hands to her pleading eyes, then sighed heavily.

“I suppose a few hours wouldn’t hurt. Will you be alright?” he asked, rubbing his thumb back and forth on her hand. 

“I doubt I’ll ever be left alone again. I’ll be fine. Please, go sleep for a while.” Cullen’s shoulders drooped as he gave in.

“As soon as I find Solas, I will. I promise,” he said, gently squeezing her hand before leaving.

Once she was alone, Evelyn carefully pulled down the stifling blankets to examine herself. Solas had wrapped her torso in a way that restricted her motion, and large, dark bruises spotted her body. Even as she laid still she was sore, but moving was excruciating.

“It’s good to see you awake, my friend,” Solas said as he entered. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a mountain fell on top of me.” Solas chuckled.

“I’m glad to see your sense of humor hasn’t suffered.” He slipped an arm behind her, gently easing her into an upright position. “You’re looking much better than when I saw you last.”

“I suppose I have you to thank for saving my life again, Solas.”

“And I would do it again. Here, drink this.”

He held a bottle to her lips, and she pulled a face as she swallowed the swirling red liquid.

“Regeneration potion? It must be worse than I thought.”

“I suspect you’ve cracked a rib. Perhaps even broken it. The potion should speed up your healing. With any luck it’ll help with the bruising as well.”

“Thank you, Solas,” she said. 

“It is nothing. Is there anything else I can do for you? Perhaps something to eat or drink?”

“I don’t think I can eat yet, but water would be greatly appreciated.”

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Solas said kindly, turning to leave.

“Solas, wait.” He stopped in his tracks, turning back to face her.

“The Elder One… he came for the mark. The _anchor_ , he called it. He tried to remove it, but he couldn’t, so he tried to kill me. He said he had crafted it to assault the heavens, to raise Tevinter and make himself a god. And then, after the avalanche, I found my way through a cave. There were demons, and I was injured and alone. I couldn’t fight them. But then the mark, it… I think it opened a rift, but it seemed to pull the demons back _into_ the fade. It killed them instantly. I don’t know how I did it.”

“This rift sent the demons back, instead of pulling more from the Fade? That _is_ interesting. When we found you after the battle, your mark was active, and emitting quite a bit of energy. It seems to have stabilized now. Do you think you could do that again? Control it?” Solas examined her hand, intrigued. 

“I… don’t know. If it happened once, I can only assume it can happen again. Maybe it’s another use, like closing the rifts?”

“That may be so. You’ll have to inform the others of what you’ve learned from this Elder One. But for now, rest. I’ll return shortly with your water.”

“Thank you.” Solas smiled, leaving her once again. 

The potion worked wonders. Though she was still sore, after a few hours Evelyn found herself able to move around on her own. She dressed in underclothes and her damaged armor and walked in short bursts, resting in her tent in between. Her companions stopped by throughout the afternoon to check on her. Though they tried to look cheerful, Evelyn knew the situation was dire. They had few resources, no plan, and couldn’t remain in the mountains much longer. 

“Maker, you’re a mess! Let me have a look at you,” Vivenne had exclaimed, perching elegantly on the stool Cullen had occupied throughout the night. “Are you alright, my dear? You look dreadful.”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” Evelyn assured for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The fussing was driving her mad. There were far more important things to worry about.

“You bare it well. Good,” Vivienne approved. “The troops will take their cue from your composure. You’ve handled the crisis competently, saving as many lives as you did, but the enemy struck a serious blow to you and the Inquisition. We must recognize that. _You_ must.” After an afternoon full of people trying to hide how bad things were from her, Evelyn found Vivienne’s honesty refreshing.

“I’m not going to forgive what happened at Haven,” Evelyn said. “Corypheus will answer for what he’s done.”

“You’re angry. Good. Anger can save you when everything else is gone. Just make sure you put it to good use. Our enemy advances, Herald. We must not sit idly by.”

“A Trevelyan, idle? Perish the thought,” Evelyn joked cynically. “Corypheus will pay. I’ll make sure of it.”

***  
  


Evelyn laid near Mother Giselle as night fell, the sound of shouting keeping her from getting any real rest.

“What would you have me tell them? This isn’t what we asked them to do!”

“We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way!”

“And who put you in charge? We must have a consensus, or we have nothing!”

“Please, we _must_ use reason! Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re hobbled!”

“That can’t come from nowhere!”

“She didn’t say it could!”

“ _Enough!_ This is getting us nowhere!”

“Well, we’re agreed on that much!”

Evelyn leaned up on her elbows, staring across the fire at the advisors. The arguments had started shortly after she had informed them all about Corypheus, and had continued since. Mother Giselle placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder.

“Shh, you need your rest,” she said, with the kind command of a worried mother.

“They’ve been at it for hours,” Evelyn complained. 

“They have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus.”

“Do we know where Corypheus and his forces are?”

“We are not sure where _we_ are. Which may be why, despite the numbers he still commands, there is no sign of him. That, or you are believed dead. Or without Haven, we are thought helpless. Or he girds for another attack. I cannot claim to know the mind of that creature, only his effect on us.”

“If they’re arguing about what to do next, I need to be there,” Evelyn said.

“Another heated voice won’t help. Even yours. Perhaps _especially_ yours. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand, and fall. And now we have seen her _return_. The more the enemy seems beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear. And the more our trials seem ordained.” Evelyn shook her head as she took in the cleric’s words, slowly pushing herself upright to sit on the cot. “That is hard to accept, no? What we have been called to endure? What we, perhaps, must come to believe?”

“I escaped the avalanche. Barely, perhaps, but I didn’t die.”

“Of course. And the dead cannot return from across the veil. But the people know what they saw. Or perhaps what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment, and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?”

“Mother Giselle, I just don’t see how what I believe matters,” Evelyn said, defeated. “Lies or not, Corypheus is a real, physical threat. We can’t match that with hope alone.” 

The cot creaked as she stood, then staggered toward the campfire, catching a wooden pole for support. She looked sadly at her advisors. They were silent now. Leliana sat on the ground next to Josephine, arms wrapped around her knees. Cullen hung his head across from them, while Cassandra stared intently at a map, shaking her head in frustration. Haven had broken them. 

_“Shadows fall, and hope has fled._

_Steel your heart, the dawn will come…”_

Mother Giselle’s voice carried the familiar tune, low and comforting. She made her way next to Evelyn, who watched as the people turned to listen. Then, a miracle happened.

One by one, advisors, soldiers, and townspeople alike lent their voices to the song. The melody swelled through the silent mountains as the people gathered at Evelyn’s feet. Some knelt before her, some saluted with bowed heads. She stared in disbelief at the reverence they bestowed upon her. After all they’d endured, their eyes were determined. _Hopeful._

_“The night is long,_

_And the path is dark._

_Look to the sky._

_For one day soon,_

_The dawn will come.”_

“An army needs more than an enemy,” Mother Giselle said as the song came to an end. “It needs a cause.”

She turned away, leaving Evelyn alone as she fought down the emotions the scene had brought her. The trust the people had placed in her was both humbling and overwhelming, and she wasn’t sure she deserved it. 

“A word?” Solas said, passing behind her. Evelyn allowed him to lead her away from the others, to a more secluded area. He lit a torch with a wave of his hand. 

“A wise woman,” he said. “Worth heeding. Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause… or fracture it.” He stared stoically into the mountains as flakes of snow fell around them. “The orb Corypheus carried, the power he used against you - it is Elven. Corypheus used the orb to open the breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. I do not yet know how Corypheus survived, nor am I certain how people will react when they learn of the orb’s origin.”

“Alright,” Evelyn said. “What is it and how do you know about it?” 

“They were foci, used to channel ancient magicks. I have seen such things in the Fade, old memories of older magic. Corypheus may think it Tevinter. His empire’s magic was built on the bones of my people. Knowing or not, he risks our alliance. I cannot allow it.” He looked more tense than Evelyn had ever recalled seeing him.

“This whole mess is confusing. I can see how elves might be an easy target,” she agreed. Solas seemed pleased with her response.

“History would agree. But there _are_ steps we can take to prevent such a distraction. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it - changed _you,”_ he said. “Scout to the north. Be their guide.”

“The north? Into the mountains?” Solas clasped his hands behind his back, the corners of his mouth hinting at a smile.

“There is a place that waits for a force to hold it - a place where the Inquisition can build. _Grow.”_ Evelyn looked at him quizzically.

“How-”

“Herald! I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid it is of great importance,” Josephine said, approaching them from behind.

“Of course, Josephine. I’ll be there in just a moment,” Evelyn replied before turning back to Solas. “We’ll talk again later.”

“I look forward to it,” he said cordially. Evelyn smiled, then followed after the Ambassador.

***

“Remember that war we talked about stopping? Full of little baddies that I can stick with little arrows? _That’s not a friggin archdemon, is it? Andraste,_ what’d I step in!” Sera exclaimed as yet another arrow sunk itself into a tree. 

They were days into their journey. Evelyn had taken Solas’s advice and insisted they travel north. Progress had been slow with so many wounded, and she had done her best to keep everyone calm. Sera was making the task difficult, though Evelyn couldn’t blame her. In fact, she wholeheartedly agreed.

“I’ve apparently been through a lot. But yes, Corypheus _was_ a surprise.”

“No, a surprise would be, ‘Oh, I stepped in dog shite.’ No one says, ‘Oh, a magister god monster! I’m surprised!’ Impossible things _aren’t surprises.”_

“I can’t help you if you don’t explain what’s wrong, exactly,” Evelyn said as Sera nocked another arrow.

“It’s got to be nonsense, doesn’t it? We’re kind of screwed if it isn’t. I mean that Coryphy-thing, a magister, right? Story is he cracked the Golden City. But that’s a hazy dream. If not, seat of the Maker - real thing. A seat needs a butt, so the Maker - real thing. Fairy stories about the start and end of the world - _real things._ It’s too much, isn’t it? I just wanna plug the skyhole rubbish so I can go play!” 

“Keep calling it nonsense. That perspective will keep the Inquisition grounded.” 

“Oh, I can do that. Sure could use a few more people shouting ‘no.’ We fight, the bad things go away, everyone calms down, and everything goes back to normal. A nice, well-paid normal.”

“You’re starting to not sound _completely_ crazy.” Sera grinned.

“I know! Scary, innit? So bring ‘em on! But first, food. I’m starving.” Evelyn snorted in amusement as she skipped off toward camp, crossing paths with Cullen on her way.

“I wonder what goes on in her head sometimes,” he said as he approached. Evelyn shrugged.

“You and I both.”

“I brought you something, but don’t tell anyone,” he said, slipping a warm mug into her hands. Evelyn smiled with glee.

“Is this tea? Thank the Maker! How…?”

“You didn’t hear it from me, but Leliana has somehow acquired a small stash. She won’t reveal her secrets, but I convinced her to share. It’s very hot. Be careful.”

“My hero,” Evelyn teased, raising the scalding mug to her lips. “I’ve never been so happy to burn myself.” Cullen chuckled. 

“According to Solas, we aren’t far from our destination,” he said, holding his own mug with two hands for warmth. “Should be another day or two. I hope he’s right. I’m not sure the wounded will be able to hold out much longer. Did he tell you anything more of it?”

“Only that it would be enough to accommodate us. I trust him, though. He’s saved me twice now, and you as well. I’m not sure I ever properly thanked you. I wouldn’t have made it another step. Had you not found me…” She trailed off as Cullen scratched at the back of his neck. 

“There’s really no need to thank me,” he said, staring into his cup.

“Cullen, after the avalanche I...” she began, shifting nervously. “I don’t know how far I walked, or for how long, or even remember most of it, other than the pain and the cold. You can’t imagine my relief when I finally saw you.” Cullen met her eyes, and she melted beneath his tender gaze. “I just needed to thank you. And for staying with me as well. You didn’t have to do that, but it was very kind.”

“Evelyn...” 

“We’re all carrying the guilt of Haven. Please accept my thanks. There was nothing more you could have done - that _any_ of us could have done.” Cullen sighed.

“I… alright,” he conceded.

They stood silently for a moment, neither knowing what to say. Evelyn sipped at her tea, staring out into the distance.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” she asked as she peered out across the white capped mountains. The snow glittered in the sunlight. In other circumstances, it would have been nice.

“Yes, it is,” Cullen agreed. She thought she felt his gaze on her, but when she turned, his eyes were on the snowy horizon.

***

_Skyhold._

It had taken her breath away as it came into view. The fortress was nestled in the mountains, and Evelyn could have sworn it had been waiting for them. She was in awe when they finally crossed the bridge and stepped inside the grounds. The whole place pulsed with magic. Grass and trees bloomed, though the world around them was a frozen tundra, and despite its age, it was largely intact.

It took weeks to settle themselves. A makeshift infirmary was set up in the courtyard, and most of their soldiers had started the process of making the fortress inhabitable. For now, they continued to camp outside, with a few rooms off the battlements available to clean up in.

Evelyn stood in the doorway of one such room, observing the scene in the courtyard. Josephine had somehow conjured a few outfits for her, and she wore a comfortable beige doublet and breeches. Evelyn smiled at her advisors, who conversed not far from where she stood. Cassandra waved her over as the others split off.

“They arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage,” Cassandra said, leading her through the courtyard and up the stairs. “If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated. But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you.” Evelyn held up her hand.

“He came for this, and now it’s useless to him, so he wants me dead. That’s it.”

“The anchor has power, but it’s not why you’re still standing here. Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creature’s rival because of what you did. And we know it. All of us.” Evelyn followed as Cassandra led her around the corner and up the steps toward the fortress. She stepped aside to reveal Leliana, who stood at the top of the stairs holding a large, ceremonial sword. 

“The Inquisition requires a leader. The one who has _already_ been leading it.” Evelyn furrowed her brow and stared down at the sword in confusion, then turned to observe the large crowd that had formed below them, looking up in anticipation. She whipped back around to Cassandra as the realization dawned on her.

“You,” the Seeker said.

“It’s unanimous?” Evelyn asked, Incredulous. “You all have that much confidence in me?”

“All of these people have their lives because of you. They _will_ follow.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“I will not lie - handing this power to anyone is troubling, but I have to believe this was meant to be. There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you _lead_ \- that must be yours to decide.”

Evelyn stepped slowly toward Leliana, gazing at the sword. She breathed deeply, face set with determination, then took it by the hilt. 

“Corypheus will never let me live in peace. He made that clear” she said. “He intends to be a god, to rule over us all. Corypheus must be stopped.”

“Wherever you lead us,” Cassandra said with a small bow of her head. She stepped toward the edge, calling down into the courtyard. “Have our people been told?”

“They have,” Josephine beamed. “And soon, the world!”

“Commander! Will they follow?”  
“Inquisition! Will you follow? Will you fight? Will we _triumph?”_ Cullen called to the crowd. The cheers of the people thundered in response, growing louder with each question. Cullen drew his sword, pointing it toward her. “Your leader! Your Herald! _Your_ _Inquisitor!”_

As the deafening cheers enveloped them, Evelyn thrust the blade into the sky. The dawn had come.

  
  



	9. Keeping House

Skyhold was endless. 

Evelyn was in awe of the old fortress. She had walked the ramparts that morning with Blackwall, inspecting the fortifications and admiring the view. They could see for miles beyond the walls, but the sights within interested her more. 

So far, she had discovered the courtyard, garden, rotunda, library, rookery, kitchen, stables, wine cellar, undercroft, and prisons. In addition, they had found areas that were to be converted to sleeping quarters, offices, a tavern, and the war room, and she was sure there was still more she hadn’t even found yet. Evelyn took these small joys where they came. Most of her work had been draining lately as the effects of Haven still shadowed their efforts.

“Inquisitor, I was just inspecting our new headquarters,” Josephine said, falling into step with Evelyn as they wandered through the fortress. “Foundation cracks, nesting animals, and miles away from any centers of civilization. The staff _must_ make it presentable if we’re to receive any visitors of distinction.”

“It certainly wouldn’t do for the Inquisition to appear…” Evelyn began, pausing to look at a hole in the wall, “... _overly shabby.”_

“We’ve only just now convinced everyone we are precisely what Thedas requires. The mages are showing great trust in you. They need to feel safe here,” Josephine said, leading Evelyn into her office.

“After that battle with Coryheus, how could anyone _not_ feel perfectly safe?”

“I can’t stop dwelling on the day he attacked our camp. Do you know who first leapt to arms? Our workers. They were so _proud_ of our cause. Corypheus simply cut them down,” Josephine said sadly. “So much screaming after that first blast of fire. So many people turned to ash.”

“I keep feeling that fire’s heat on the back of my neck, too,” Evelyn admitted. It was all she could think about since their narrow escape. The memories haunted her.

“Indeed. But _you’re_ the one who led us to safety,” Josephine said. Evelyn looked to the ground. She was also the reason so many had died. Corypheus wanted _her._ “Well, before I return to my duties, allow me to congratulate you on your appointment as Inquisitor, my lady. I will now bring diplomatic issues to your attention, and I’m more than happy to help with any situation that arises.”

“I’d be delighted if you could conjure up a marble bath within the next hour,” Evelyn said, half-joking. Josephine laughed. 

“I’ll attempt to add that to the list.” Evelyn grinned as she turned, taking a few steps toward the door. 

“Inquisitor,” Josephine called after her. Evelyn turned where she stood. “Does it… hurt? The anchor, that is?” Evelyn looked down at her hand. 

“It’s not pain, exactly. It’s more like my nerves go on fire.”

“It sounds… most unpleasant.”

“It definitely took some getting used to.”

“I should return to my duties. I shall see you for our next war council, Your Worship. Oh, and before you go, I believe Leliana has something for you. I last saw her in the rookery.”

“Thank you, Josephine. I’ll find her now.”

Evelyn passed through the library, where her search for Leliana was temporarily halted. She was accosted by Dorian, who made quite a performance of retelling the events of Haven, though Evelyn sensed the humor was rooted in pain. She spoke with him for a while about his thoughts and his homeland before stopping to meet the Inquisition’s new researcher, as well as check in with Fiona before finally pulling herself away.

“I’m sorry,” she heard the spymaster say as she ascended the last steps to the rookery. Startled birds fluttered and squawked irritably as she passed to where Leliana stood with Cullen, both looking sullen.

“So am I,” the Commander said before leaving. Leliana clutched a small scroll in her hand. 

“The names of those we lost,” she explained, her expression pained. “You must blame me for this.” 

“We all saw who attacked us. We know exactly who to blame.” Leliana shook her head, then turned away from Evelyn, staring out an arched window.

“I keep wondering if I could’ve done something different. When the first of my lookouts went missing, I pulled the rest back, waiting for more information. If they had stayed in the field, they could have bought us more time! I was afraid to lose my agents. Instead we lost Haven.”

“You look out for your people. That’s a _good_ thing,” Evelyn assured.

“Is it? My people know their duty. They know the risks. They understand that the Inquisition may call upon them to give their lives.”

“Our people aren’t tools to be used and discarded. Your instincts were right. Their lives matter.”

“Can we afford such sentimentality? What if Corypheus-”

“We’re better than Corypheus,” Evelyn said sternly. Leliana furrowed her brow, thoughtful. Evelyn softened. “I wanted to ask how you’ve been feeling. I know the Divine’s death hit you hard.”

“Oh. You are referring to my outburst in Haven,” she replied, raising her eyes. “I… I am much better now. Justinia was such a dear friend and… there were so many things going wrong.”

“Sometimes it’s best to talk these things out.” Leliana frowned.

“I was there when the Hero of Ferelden defeated the archdemon. We won the day, and I thought the Maker smiled on me. When the Divine requested my help, I went to her. I owed her that much. I sacrificed so much to do the Maker’s work. But now Justinia is dead. I was angry. I felt betrayed. But I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the better of me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You were grieving and upset. I understand.”

“Thank you. Now enough with this. Let us think more pleasant thoughts.”

“Pleasant thoughts are in short supply these days, I’m afraid,” Evelyn sighed. “Though perhaps you’d share how you met Josephine? You seem to know each other quite well.” Leliana seemed thankful for the change of subject.

“I met her a long time ago, but we didn’t become good friends until years later. After the Blight, in fact. I’d just returned to Val Royeaux, and she welcomed me back by throwing a diplomatic ball - she was the Antivan ambassador at the time, you see. The ball was… alright. Too many politicians. At midnight, Josie and I left to find a real party. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“What do you consider a real party?” Evelyn asked. The spymaster smiled wickedly.

“It’s not a _real_ party until someone’s smallclothes are pinned to a Chantry board. And that’s all I’m saying about it.” Evelyn laughed, recalling a few unbecoming nights of her own.

“A shame you weren’t in Ostwick. We could have had fun,” she said.

“I suppose we’ll just have to throw our own party sometime.”

“I look forward to it,” Evelyn grinned. They talked and laughed together for a while, taking a welcome break for the first time in ages. Leliana introduced Evelyn to a rather mean looking bird that she had fondly named Baron Plucky, and told her of her nugs Boulette and Schmooples II. Though she was tempted, Evelyn refrained from asking what had happened to Schmooples I. All in all, she felt much lighter when it was time to leave than she had in weeks. 

“I almost forgot!” Leliana said, walking back to her desk. “A letter arrived for you from a Ser Rowan Trevelyan.”

“Rowan’s found me here already?” Evelyn asked, opening it curiously. She forced a neutral expression as she read it, but its contents worried her. She would be speaking with Josephine as soon as she left the rookery. 

“The news of our trials have spread quickly, it seems. If you see Cullen, could you inform him something has arrived for him as well? All things considered, I forgot to give it to him earlier.”

“I can bring it to him, if you’d like,” Evelyn offered.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s only a letter, Leliana. It’s no trouble.”

“Thank you,” she said, sorting through the letters in her hands. “Ah! Here it is.” She handed it to Evelyn, who held it with her own as she walked away, pausing at the top of the stairs.

“Which Chantry board?” she asked. Leliana laughed.

“Not a chance.”

***

After a brief stop back to Josephine, Evelyn made her way down the stone steps toward Cullen, who stood with a few soldiers at a small wooden table. He appeared even more engrossed in his work than usual. As he barked orders at the men beside him, he leaned over the makeshift desk, staring intently at the documents before him.

“Send men to scout the area. We need to know what’s out there.”

“Yes, ser!” a soldier said. Another approached as the first left.

“Commander, soldiers have been assigned temporary quarters.” 

“Very good. I’ll need an update on the armory as well,” Cullen said, straightening. “Now!” The soldier hastily saluted, then ran off. It was almost comical. Evelyn was sure Cullen hadn’t even noticed her until she was upon him, and he didn’t slow down for a moment.

“We set up as best we could at Haven, but we could never prepare for an archdemon, or… whatever it was. With some warning we might’ve…” he stopped abruptly when he noticed the amused look on Evelyn’s face.

“Do you ever sleep?” she asked. Cullen scratched at his neck.

“If Corypheus strikes again we may not be able to withdraw. And I wouldn't want to,” he said, examining the tactical map in front of him. “We must be ready. Work on Skyhold is underway. Guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not _run_ from here, Inquisitor.”

“How many were lost?” Evelyn asked.

“Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse. Morale was low, but it’s improved greatly since you’ve accepted the role of Inquisitor.”

“‘Inquisitor Trevelyan.’ I wasn’t looking for another title. It sounds odd, don’t you think?”

“Not at all,” Cullen disagreed.

“Is that the ‘official’ response?” 

“I suppose it is,” he chuckled, straightening to face her. “But it’s the truth. We needed a leader. You have proven yourself.”

“Thank you, Cullen,” Evelyn said. “Our escape from Haven... it was close. I’m relieved that you… that _so many_ made it out.” She shifted about awkwardly, heat rising in her cheeks from the near confession. 

“As am I,” Cullen said softly, holding her with his gaze for a moment before looking away. Evelyn turned to leave before she could say something truly embarrassing. 

“You stayed behind, you could have...” When she turned to him again, Cullen was closer, an intensity in his eyes. “I will _not_ allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.” 

“Cullen…” Evelyn began, but there were no words. They stood quietly for a moment before Evelyn remembered the reason she had found him.

“Leliana asked me to give you this,” she said awkwardly, handing him the letter. He looked it over, then sighed heavily. “Have I brought bad news?” she asked.

“Just a family matter. Nothing to worry about,” he said, brushing it off. 

“Inquisitor! Commander!” Josephine called from the top of the steps. 

“I think we’re due in the war room,” Cullen said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Shall we?”

***

“I’ll send troops to aid in the construction of the memorial. Were you able to arrange what we talked about?” Cullen asked the Ambassador. He stood between her and Leliana, with Evelyn just across the table.

“I found the money. The Inquisition will compensate the families of those we lost at Haven.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s the right thing to do. I only wish we could do more,” Josephine said, before turning to Evelyn. “I’ve also made inquiries into the Imperial Court. The sooner we deal with the threat to the Empress, the better. The political situation in the Empire is dangerously unstable. It will complicate matters.”

“Everything in the Empire complicates matters,” Cullen said. “It’s the Orlesian national pastime.” He grinned as he caught Evelyn’s own sly smile across the table. Leliana scoffed.

“Turn your nose up at the Grand Game if you like, Commander, but we play for the highest stakes, and to the death.” 

“The Court’s disapproval can be as great a threat as the Venatori. We must be vigilant to avert disaster.” Josephine, ever the diplomat, was once again the voice of reason.

“Don’t worry Josephine. I can handle the Court,” Evelyn assured. After their argument in Haven, Cullen didn’t doubt it.

“I pray you’re right. Celene is holding peace talks under the auspices of a grand masquerade. Every power in Orlais will be there. It’s the perfect place for an assassin to hide.”

“A grand masquerade? I need to go shopping.”

“I’ll arrange for an invitation at your discretion, Inquisitor. Now, there is one other matter. We’ve received a letter from King Alistair of Ferelden.”

“It seems you’re to be quite popular in all the courts, Inquisitor,” Leliana grinned. “Venatori have infiltrated the Royal Palace. His Majesty is a friend of mine. Allow me to send some scouts in to weed them out, and I’ll ensure Alistair is left with a good impression of the Inquisition.”

“Go ahead, Leliana. Is there anything else?” Evelyn asked. 

“That is all for now. Master Dennet arrived yesterday, so you will have mounts for your journey to the Storm Coast, if you wish to inspect them.”

“I’ll head to the stables now.” 

Evelyn smiled at Cullen before following Leliana from the war room. He started to leave as well, but Josephine stopped him before he could make it very far.  
“Cullen, a moment more of your time?” she asked. 

“Of course. What do you need?”

“I was wondering how much lyrium would be necessary to supply one Templar.” Cullen narrowed his eyes.

“Why? I have taken care of the distribution to our Templars.” 

“It is not for our soldiers.”

“Then who? We can’t be distributing it all over Thedas,” Cullen asked. Lyrium was not something to be fooled with, nor was it in large supply. The Inquisition had to be careful with their stores.

“It… is a delicate matter.” Josephine walked toward the doors and glanced down the hall. Once she was sure they were alone, she shut them inside the war room. Cullen watched her quizzically. 

“It is a request from the Inquisitor,” she said finally. 

“The _Inquisitor?_ ” Cullen repeated. Evelyn was neither a mage nor a Templar. Why would she make such a request?

“Yes.”

“Does this have something to do with the anchor?”

“No - she requested it, but it is not for _her._ ” Josephine sighed as Cullen stared at her, brows knit together in confusion. 

“You know her brother was a Templar, yes?” Cullen nodded. “It seems Ser Trevelyan left the Order before the Templars separated from the Chantry. Lyrium has become increasingly hard to come by, and he has been unable to find a supplier, even with House Trevelyan’s Chantry connections. He is very ill. The Inquisitor has asked if it would be possible for the Inquisition to supply him. She nearly died for us, Cullen. I feel we should honor the request.” 

Cullen stared, open mouthed, at the Ambassador. He knew too well what lyrium withdrawal could do. He would never wish it on an unwilling participant - he wasn’t even sure it was _survivable._

“Send him mine,” he said at last.

“What?” Josephine exclaimed.

“I… stopped taking it. It won’t affect our supplies, as it would be the same as though you were supplying me.”

“Cullen, are you alright?”

“I’ve been able to handle it so far. I’ve asked Cassandra to watch me. I won’t jeopardize our cause.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. Send him my supplies. I’m not using them anyway.”

“You have to tell her.” Cullen sighed. He knew this was coming sooner or later.

“I know. I’ll inform the Inquisitor of my choice. But don’t mention it’s my supply that we’ve sent to Ostwick. I’d rather she didn’t know.”

“Of course. Thank you, Commander. I’ll arrange everything from here.” She stopped him one more time as he approached the door. “Cullen?”

“Yes?”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, anything you need…”

“That’s kind of you, Josephine. But I’m fine. Thank you.” 

“As you say, Commander,” he heard her say as he exited the war room. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he remembered the way Evelyn’s worried expression when she realized he hadn’t slept that night in the mountains. She had enough things to worry about as it was. Clearly she knew how serious this was, or she wouldn’t have come to Josephine more help.

_Maker, how am I going to tell her?_

***

Evelyn stood in the underforge, outfitted in her new prowler armor. It was of higher quality than her last set, and though still crafted in the lightweight style of a rogue, it featured a small chest plate with the symbol of the Inquisition. 

“How do you like the new gear?” Harritt asked, handing her a new pair of daggers as well. 

“It’s sturdy and warm, and the fit is perfect. You’ve outdone yourself, Harritt.” Evelyn twirled the daggers in either hand, satisfied with the weight and balance. 

“Good. Stock armor and blades are good against bandits, but you’re not fightin’ bandits. My gear will see you through whatever this world throws at you.”

“How’s this place shaping up as a forge?”

“Better than Haven ever could be. Not the way I wanted an upgrade, but ever forward. Speaking of upgrades, it’s ‘Inquisitor’ now, isn’t it? That’ll take some getting used to.” Evelyn sighed.

“For you and me both, Harritt. You think it’s strange to say. It’s stanger to hear.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. We need you level.”

“I won’t, Harritt. You have my word.”

“Good. Send down your team when you get a chance. I’ll make sure they don’t get soaked through on the Storm Coast.”

Evelyn changed out of her new armor and began her search for her companions. She quickly found Dorian and Sera and was just on her way toward the stables to find Blackwall when she was stopped by Solas, Vivienne, and Cassandra. They appeared to be in a tense discussion. 

“This _thing_ is not a stray puppy you can make into a pet. It has no business being here.” Vivienne insisted.

“Wouldn’t you say the same of an apostate?” Solas said. Vivienne didn’t need to respond - the displeasure was evident on her face.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, acknowledging Evelyn’s approach, “I wondered if Cole was perhaps a mage, given his unusual abilities.”

“He can cause people to forget him, or even fail entirely to notice him. These are not the abilities of a mage. It seems Cole is a spirit,” Solas declared. 

“It is a _demon.”_ Vivienne crossed her arms in front of her. Evelyn suspected this conversation had been circling for a while.

“If you prefer. Although the truth is somewhat more complex.”

“How complex?” Evelyn asked.

“His nature is not so easily defined.”

“Speak plainly, Solas,” Cassandra said. “What _are_ we dealing with?”

“Demons normally enter this world by possessing something,” Solas explained. “In their true form, they look bizarre, monstrous.”

“But you claim Cole looks like a young man. Is it possession?”

“No. He has possessed nothing and no one, and yet he appears human in all respects. Cole is unique, Inquisitor. More than that, he wishes to help. I suggest you allow him to do so.”

“I should hear what Cole has to say for himself,” Evelyn said. “Where is he now?”

“If none of us remember him, he could be anywhere,” Cassandra said, but when they turned they spotted him with the wounded not far from where they stood.

“Haven,” Cole said when Evelyn reached him. “So many soldiers fought to protect the pilgrims so they could escape.” He walked a few steps and stood before an injured soldier. “Choking fear, can’t think from the medicine but the cuts wrack me with every heartbeat. Hot, white pain, everything burns. I can’t, I can’t. I’m going to… I’m dying, I’m… dead.”

“You’re... feeling their pain?” Evelyn asked, incredulous, and admittedly a bit disturbed.

“It’s louder this close, with so many of them.”

“Would you... like to go somewhere more comfortable?”

“Yes. But here is where I can help.” He walked toward another wounded soldier. “Every breath slower, like lying in a warm bath. Sliding away. Smell of my daughter’s hair when I kiss her goodnight... gone.” It was all a bit much for Evelyn, but she continued to follow him to another of the wounded.

“Cracked brown pain, dry, scraping. _Thirsty._ Here.” The soldier thanked Cole as she drank, her voice weak and hoarse.

“It’s alright. She won’t remember me,” Cole explained.

“You’re using your powers as a spirit to help people?” Evelyn realized.

“Yes. I used to think I was a ghost. I didn’t know. I made mistakes… but I made friends, too. Then a Templar proved I wasn’t real. I lost my friends. I lost everything. I learned how to be more like what I am. It made me different, but stronger. I can feel more. I can _help.”_

“If you’re willing, the Inquisition could use your help,” Evelyn offered. 

“Yes, helping. I help the hurt, the helpless. There’s someone…” He moved again, stopping beside a severely injured soldier. “Hurts, it hurts, someone make it stop hurting, Maker please…” Cole pulled a dagger from his pocket, looking toward Evelyn. “The healers have done all they can. It will take him hours to die. Every moment will be agony. He wants mercy. Help.”

Evelyn looked at the soldier, who moaned, face contorted in pain. She knew Cole was right - the man would not survive. It would be merciful to kill him.

“Alright,” she said at last. “Help him.”

“It’s alright,” Cole whispered as he eased the man through his final moments. Evelyn strode back over to the group, who had been watching her with interest.

“Cole is staying. That is my final word on it. Have any of you seen Blackwall?” Though their reactions varied, her steely expression kept them from commenting on the decision.

“I saw him heading for Cullen’s office not long ago,” Cassandra said. Evelyn nodded and took her leave, climbing the stone steps to the battlements. 

“Come in,” she heard Cullen call as she knocked. The office was small and tidy, with a large desk positioned to her left by the window. 

“You’ve made good use of your new space, I see,” she said as she entered. “Except… Cullen, there is a huge hole in your roof! I can send someone to fix that.”

“It’s alright,” he said sheepishly. “I know it’s strange, but I like the fresh air.”

“If you insist.” She glanced back and forth between him and Blackwall. The men stood next to one another, each holding large steel shields. “Have I interrupted something?”

“We were deciding which shield would be better for our soldiers,” Blackwall said. “I think we’ve come to a decision.”

“That we have. I’ll tell Harritt the next time I see him.”

“Actually, perhaps Blackwall could tell him now?” Evelyn suggested. “He’s looking for you. He’d like to make sure your new armor is to your liking before we leave for the Storm Coast.”

“Is he? I’ll head down there now then. I’ve been curious to see what he comes up with.” He took the shield and left the office, Evelyn turning to follow him.

“Inquisitor, do you have a moment?” Cullen asked.

“Of course,” she said, shutting the door and turning back to the Commander. “Is something wrong?” He had moved to lean over his desk, looking uncharacteristically despondent.

“As leader of the Inquisition, you…” he sighed deeply, hanging his head. “There’s something I must tell you.” Evelyn moved beside him, leaning backward against his desk, and placing a comforting hand upon his arm. Whatever it was, it was troubling him deeply.

“Whatever it is, I’m willing to listen.” 

“Right. Thank you.” He straightened, glancing from her hand to her face, then back downward again. 

“Lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer. Some go mad. Others die.” Evelyn gulped. Luckily Josephine had been able to send a supply to Rowan back in Ostwick. The alternative was not something she wished to think about. Cullen must have noticed her troubled expression, because he turned to her, taking her hands within his own. “We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here, but I… no longer take it.” Evelyn’s eyes widened with fear as she recalled the contents of Rowan’s letter.

“You’ve stopped?”

“When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.”

“Cullen, if this can kill you-”

“It hasn’t yet. After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t…” His eyes pleaded with her, begged her to understand. “I will _not_ be bound to the Order - or that life - any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it. But I would not put this Inquisition at risk,” he added, misreading her worried expression. How could he possibly think that was her biggest concern? “I have asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

“Are you in pain?” Cullen sighed.

“I can endure it.” Evelyn stared down at their hands. How many times had she fought, kicking and screaming, to avoid being used as a pawn, trapped in a life she didn’t want? And that was just noble politics. She couldn’t imagine the struggles he faced, how suffocating this must be. How much agony had the Order brought him, for him to decide the suffering - the _risks_ \- were worth it?

“Thank you for telling me,” she said at last. “I respect what you’re doing.” He looked relieved by her words.

“Thank you. The Inquisition’s army must always take priority. Should anything happen… I’ll defer to Cassandra’s judgement.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Cullen smiled weakly.

“That’s very kind. But I’ll be alright. Please don’t worry.”

“Are you s-”

“Commander!” They sprung apart at the sound of the soldier’s voice and knock on the door. Evelyn masterfully adopted an heir of noble composure, but Cullen blushed deeply and began fussing awkwardly with the reports upon his desk.

“I have updates on the… oh! Inquisitor! I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s quite alright, Lieutenant. I was just on my way.” Evelyn turned to Cullen, offering an encouraging smile. “I’ll be seeing you, Commander.”

“Always a pleasure, Inquisitor.” She slipped past the soldier, catching Cullen’s appreciative gaze through the crack as she closed the door behind her.

***

“Oh, the Storm Coast is just _lovely_ this time of year! You’ll just _adore_ it! Ugh, I’m feeling seasick already. Is anyone else cold?”

The Storm Coast was as good as its name. Scout Harding had informed them of the bandits in the area, but luckily they were not far from where they expected to find The Iron Bull and his mercenary company. While Sera and Blackwall were accustomed to southern weather, Dorian was not adjusting well. It didn’t help that he and Blackwall had been at each other’s throats for most of the journey.

“What, are you afraid a little rain will mess up your hair? How do you get it to do that anyway? Magic?” 

“With proper hygiene and grooming. Maybe you should get acquainted.”

“You have something to say, mage?”

“If I had something to say, I’d say it.”  
  
“That's it? I'd expect more from a man who can't stop talking about how clever he is.”

“And I'd expect no less from a brutish thug.”

“Better that than a pompous brat.”

“ _Enough!_ Both of you!” Evelyn shouted, exasperated. “If we’re going to fight at each other’s side, we need to get along.”

“Tell that to mister barely concealed envy issues!” Dorian objected. Sera rolled her eyes.

“You two are such _men.”_

“Well, I’m a man,” Blackwall stated.

“Best pound your chest so nobody doubts.”

“Such camaraderie,” Evelyn groaned.

“I apologize, Inquisitor.”

“I don’t.”

“Maker’s breath!” Evelyn carefully maneuvered down a steep hill, trying not to slip in the thick mud. Dorian chuckled. 

“And where did you pick up that little phrase, Inquisitor?” he teased. “Spending too much time with our dear Commander?”

“We work together, Dorian. And it’s just a phrase. I could have picked it up anywhere.”

“Perhaps. But you didn’t.”

“I can throw a dagger faster than you can grab your staff.”

“Point taken. Just promise me you won’t forget your dearest friend, will you? It’d be a shame to be jilted because of your taste for scruffy blondes.”

“I do _not_ have a thing for blondes.”

“So the scruffy part is true? No wonder none of your suitors succeeded. I suppose the stubble and scar do have a certain appeal.”

“ _Ugh!”_

“Oh! That one’s from Cassandra!” Sera laughed.

“Maker, why do I-” Evelyn paused, holding out an arm and signaling them all to stop. “Do you hear that?”

“Fighting. Sounds like it’s coming from the coast,” Blackwall said. Evelyn unsheathed her blades.

“Let’s go.”

The party ran for the coastline, slowed slightly by the slick mud and small rocks that lined the water. A skirmish had broken out between a group of bandits and some mercenaries, which Evelyn could only assume were the Chargers based on the appearance of the mammoth Qunari warrior in the center of the battle. 

She lashed out at a bandit, striking her in the abdomen, as Blackwall charged into the heart of the fray. Dorian blasted them with fire while Sera nocked arrow after arrow. They hailed down upon them, taking out bandits from afar. The Chargers made quick work of the others, and together they dominated the battle. Evelyn rolled beneath a swinging warhammer, coming to her feet again behind the last of the bandits, and stabbed him forcefully in the back. 

“Chargers! Stand down,” the Qunari ordered. He towered above them all, with wide horns and a massive build. He wore an eyepatch and what Evelyn could only describe as armor, though the term didn’t quite do the job, as the leather piece only covered one shoulder.

“Krem! How’d we do!” 

“Five or six wounded, chief. No dead.” Evelyn recognized the man as the one who had met with her in Haven.

“That’s what I like to hear! Let the throat cutters finish up, then break out the casks.”

“Iron Bull, I presume?” Evelyn said, passing the smaller of the men as she approached the Qunari. 

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away,” he said. “I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my Lieutenant?”

“Good to see you again,” the Lieutenant nodded. “The throat cutters are done, chief.”

“Already? Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.” Evelyn heard Dorian scoff behind her.

“None taken,” Krem said. “Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?” The Iron Bull chuckled as his second in command walked away, then turned his attention to Evelyn.

“So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company,” Evelyn praised. She was impressed with their skill, and the Inquisition could use all the help it could get.

“They are. But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting _me._ You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man. Whatever it is - demons, dragons? The bigger the better.” He led her down the coast, separating her from the others. “And there’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“They’re a Qunari organization, right? The equivalent of their guards and city watch?”

“I’d go closer to spies, but yeah, that’s them. Or, well… us.” Evelyn cocked a brow. “The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about what happened with the breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also _get_ reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.” Evelyn narrowed her eyes.

“Why are you telling me this?” 

“Whatever happened at the Conclave, what caused the breach and destroyed Haven, it’s bad. It needs to be stopped. So whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

“You still could have hidden what you are.”

“From something called the ‘Inquisition?’ I’d have been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me.” When he put it that way, it almost made sense. 

Almost.

“And what would you send home in these reports of yours?”

“Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that’ll compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.”

“What’s in these Ben-Hassrath reports you’re offering to share?” 

“Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. It’s a bit of everything. Alone, they’re not much, but if your spymaster is worth a damn, she’ll put ‘em to good use.”

“She?” Evelyn questioned. The Iron Bull was clearly well informed. He chuckled.

“I did a little research. Plus, I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.”

Evelyn considered the offer. While she didn’t love the idea of having information sent to the Qunari, she had to admit there was logic to his words. If the Qun thought things had grown out of control… well, Kirkwall had been example enough. And the Chargers were worth the price.

“Alright. You’re in,” she said, hands sitting low on her hips. “But your reports will be approved by my spymaster before they’re sent, and if anything compromises the Inquisition, Cassandra will eat you alive.” 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” The Iron Bull grinned.

“Krem!” he called, turning back to his company, “Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired.”

“What about the casks, chief?” Krem groaned. “We just opened them up! _With axes.”_

“Find some way to seal ‘em. You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic,” The Iron Bull said, then turned to Evelyn. “We’ll meet you back at Skyhold.” She nodded, the two sharing a smile as he returned to his men. 

“I hope I don’t regret this,” Evelyn muttered. Then, she returned to break up yet another spat between Blackwall and Dorian.

_“Enough!”_

  
  



	10. Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading! I just wanted to update you that as of 8/15/20 I have updated this fic to a mature rating due to themes of violence and sexuality that are inherent within this game series. 
> 
> If interested, check out my Dragon Age blog on tumblr @another-rogue-trevelyan, where I sometimes post about these dorks and other DA content!

Josephine was a miracle worker.

By the time Evelyn returned from the Storm Coast, Skyhold had transformed. The main hall had been draped in Andrastian decor and banners featuring the sunburst symbol hung on the walls. A tall wooden throne, intricately carved with the sign of the Inquisition and adorned with swords, sat at the head of the room.

“Impressive, is it not?” Josephine had said that morning as the two of them stood before it. “Fit for a leader - meant to show influence, and the burden of it. It is where the Inquisition will sit in judgement. Where _you_ will sit in judgement.” 

“Do I really have to oversee more death? I’m nearly at capacity.” Evelyn stared grimly at the throne. She felt heavier just looking at it.

“I share your distaste for more bloodshed, but it needn’t come to that. The Inquisition’s sovereignty is derived from the allies who validate it. You are both empowered and bound.”

_Bound._

The responsibility of her position was not lost on her, but for the first time she felt crushed beneath it. She was no less bound to this throne than if they chained her to it.

“Justice has many tools,” Josephine had continued, noticing Evelyn’s shift in demeanor. If their application is clever, execution may even seem merciful by comparison.”

That had been this morning’s conversation. Presently, she stood behind a panelled divider in her quarters as Josephine laced her into a tight corset. The ambassador had spared no expense. Evelyn’s windows were Orlesian stained glass, the furniture expertly carved (including a formidable desk that sat in the corner), and she had even succeeded in finding a marble bath. Her bed was a large four-poster with a plush down mattress and the finest sheets and blankets imported directly from the Free Marches. A pot of tea, cream, and sugar had been provided for the women, and Josephine - always thoughtful - had even instructed that Evelyn’s favorite red lipstick and an expensive bottle of Antivan red wine always be stocked in her quarters. Leliana sat on the sofa, entertaining an Orlesian seamstress they had hired to dress her for the Winter Palace. 

“Josephine, I have worn many a corset and attended more balls than the King of Ferelden. But if things go sour, I would prefer not to fight in a gown. Surely we can find something more… practical.”

“We can discuss it, but regardless, you’ll likely need a gown at some point. We may as well fit you now.” 

A loud knock on the door caught their attention, and Leliana went to open it. 

“It’s Cullen, Inquisitor. Are you decent?” she called.

“Yes, let him in.” She heard Leliana offer him a cup of tea from behind the panel as Josephine buttoned her into a deep burgundy gown. The satin hugged her waist and the neckline accentuated her breasts. Thin sleeves sat on the edge of each shoulder. Though it was lovely, the classic skirt was too long, and it was extremely impractical should she need to fight - a possibility Evelyn considered almost guaranteed, all things considered.

“Put these on, too. We should check the length,” Josephine said, handing her a pair of long, pearl colored opera gloves. Evelyn slipped them on. “You look lovely, Inquisitor. We’ll just need to hem the skirt.”

“Fine, but we find something else to wear to Halamshiral. I have no intention of dying because of a dress… even if it is pretty,” Evelyn admitted, catching herself in a mirror. It hadn’t been the dressing up part of Aunt Lucille’s balls that she hated. She picked up her skirt in one hand and a delicate lace fan in the other, then stepped out from the divider, fanning herself dramatically.

“What do you think?” she said in a sultry alto. “Am I good enough for Orlais yet?”

Cullen choked on his tea, his cheeks nearly as dark as her dress. 

“Evelyn, that dress is _stunning_ on you! Don’t you agree, Cullen?” Leliana gushed. 

“It’s… um… very red.” His eyes scanned her form, then darted anywhere _but_ at her, finally landing on his boots.

“I’ll admit, I quite like it. But don’t get used to it, there’s nowhere to hide a dagger,” Evelyn said, stepping onto the pedestal.

“We could always strap it to your thigh like a garter,” Leliana suggested. Cullen cleared his throat loudly.

“I apologize, Cullen, you certainly didn’t come here to discuss fashion,” Josephine said, as the seamstress began pinning Evelyn’s hem. “Is there something we can do for you?”

“I... came with the war horn,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, the _war horn?_ ” Evelyn asked, sure she hadn’t heard him correctly.

“Yes, Inquisitor. It’s just a precaution. Should there be an emergency, you can wake the whole fortress.”

“I appreciate the thought, but it isn’t necessary.” All of her advisors stood silently, eyes downcast. “Oh, I see. You were just allowing me to think I had a choice in the matter. How kind.”

“It will hardly be noticeable, Inquisitor. And it is unlikely you’ll even need it,” Josephine reasoned.

“I’m certain I won’t. Nobody comes into Skyhold without our knowledge. And I hear the Commander runs a rather tight ship,” she said, snapping the fan shut for effect. Cullen swallowed.

“Even the tightest ships can leak, Inquisitor. It is for your own safety.”

“Really, if someone is so determined to kill me they manage to scale that wall and not fall to their death, perhaps they’ve earned it.” Evelyn sighed when none of them laughed. “Alright, fine. If it will make you all happy.”

“You won’t even notice it,” Josephine assured. Cullen assembled it on her balcony while the seamstress finished pinning. 

“Thank you. You are excused for today,” Josephine said to the woman, who nodded as she left. “Let’s get you out of that gown. We can discuss something else for the Winter Palace later.”

“I had a few questions about your report from the Storm - _oh_ ,” Cullen said as Evelyn tossed the garment over the divider. 

“It’s alright, Cullen, you won’t see anything. What did you need to know?” 

“It’s… you said you found signs of the Wardens?” She could swear his voice sounded higher in pitch than usual.

“We did. Unfortunately it seems they were long gone. I doubt there are any Wardens still on the coast.” She dressed quickly in a formal black doublet and gold sash, buttoning the front as she spoke.

“At least we have a sign of them. That’s something. My scouts will see if they can lead us to them,” Leliana said. 

“And these ‘Blades of Hessarian’...” Cullen continued.

“Their leader was killed and they have sworn allegiance to me. I can’t say it’s not strange, but they are skilled fighters. Not as skilled as the Chargers, perhaps, but they’ll be useful.” Evelyn stepped out from the divider and picked up a document from her desk. “Speaking of, the Chargers wish to investigate Therinfal Redoubt. It seems to be the original source of the Red Templars. Leliana, could you send some scouts with them?”

“Consider it done,” the spymaster said as Evelyn handed her the information. 

“Leliana and I should be going, Inquisitor,” Josephine said. “We must prepare the trial.”

“Of course,” Evelyn said, intently picking lint from her sleeve. “I’ll be down in just a moment.” Once they were gone, Evelyn looked toward the floor, appearing far more sullen than she had just moments prior.

“Is something wrong?” Cullen asked. Evelyn sighed. 

“It’s Alexius’s judgement. It’s one thing in the field, when someone attacks you - when you know it’s you or them. But to sit on a throne and condemn… What Alexius did was terrible, but he only wanted to save his son. I can’t say I don’t understand. Sometimes I wonder if I’d have done the same, in his place. But then I remember that future…” she placed her hands on her hips, biting her lower lip and trembling with rage. “It was horrible, Cullen. They imprisoned our friends - used their bodies to mine red lyrium. It infected _everything!_ Then they tortured Leliana, destroyed the Inquisition, and I didn’t know what happened to my family, or what happened to _you_ , and I… _Dammit!_ ” As she dabbed a tear away with her glove, Cullen impulsively wrapped his arms around her. He did so awkwardly, at first, but then he relaxed, resting his chin atop her head as Evelyn eased into him. 

“Why didn’t he attack me? Why couldn’t I have killed him then, in the heat of battle, without having to worry about whether or not it was right? And now I don’t know if I can…”

“You can,” Cullen said softly. “I know it won’t be easy, but you can.” Evelyn breathed deeply, allowing the comforting scent of oakmoss to calm her.

“I’m sorry,” she said when she finally pulled back, immediately missing the comfort his arms had brought. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Don’t be sorry, Evelyn. It’d be more concerning if nothing troubled you.”

“Tell that to my parents,” she said sadly, gazing at her boots. Cullen gently tilted her chin upward with his hand, guiding her eyes to him.

“You _can_ do this. I’ll support whatever you decide. And I heard from a reliable source that the kitchen staff have been baking cakes all afternoon, so when it’s all over we’ll get you a slice of cake and a glass of that wine Josephine hid in here. Alright?” He slid his hand through her hair and Evelyn laughed, sniffling a bit.

“I do love cake. But no more than one glass of wine. I’m a bloody lightweight.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Thank you, Cullen.” Evelyn smiled up at him, feeling a bit better. The gaze changed when she realized just how close they were, his hand resting on the back of her neck, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering to the scar on his lip. Her heart pounded as she realized he had done the same, and the desire to feel his lips on hers consumed her.

Then she remembered where they were.

How long had it been since she last had a man in her bedroom? _Alone?_ And this was not just any man. It was _Cullen_. Cullen, who she looked forward to seeing each day, who she thought of frequently in the field, who had cared for her after the fall of Haven, who she worried for at night. There was no denying she cared for him, and if the look in his eyes was any indication... 

The thought made her nervous, and she glanced toward the bed and back to him, cursing herself as he followed her glance. He blushed furiously when he realized where she had looked, and Evelyn felt the heat rising in her own cheeks as they pulled away.

“Perhaps… we should…” Cullen spluttered.

“I… should get down there,” Evelyn managed. 

“Of course.” Evelyn started toward the door, then turned to find Cullen still looking after her. 

“You should come.”

“Right,” Cullen said, quickly following. 

The nerves returned as she took her place on the throne, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she kept her demeanor poised, though somewhat menacing, as Josephine came before her. 

“You recall Gareon Alexius of Tevinter. Ferelden has given him to us as an acknowledgement of your aid. The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assasssination - on your own life, no less.” Inquisition guards brought him before her in chains. He looked even more pitiful than she remembered. 

“Tevinter has disowned and stripped him of his rank,” Josephine continued. You may judge the former Magister as you see fit.”

“I remember what would have happened to Thedas if his treachery had succeeded.” Evelyn crossed her legs, resting her elbows on the arms of the throne, and pressed the tips of her spread fingers together.

“I couldn’t save my son,” Alexius said. “Do you think my fate matters to me?” 

“Will you offer nothing more in your defense?”

“You’ve won _nothing,_ ” he spat. “The people you’ve saved, the acclaim you’ve gathered - you’ll lose it all in the storm to come. Render your judgement, _Inquisitor.”_ Alexius glared at Evelyn, who matched him with her ice-filled eyes. This was a man who wanted to die - death would not be punishment enough.

“You swore to the mages you’d help them. I will have you uphold that promise. Fiona will take charge of you. Any knowledge, favor, or coin you own will go toward the mages’ future.”

“A headsman would have been kinder,” Alexius snarled. The guards took him by either arm and led him away, and Evelyn caught Cullen’s encouraging smile in the crowd. She had done it. 

***

Cullen groaned as he laid in bed that evening, sweat causing the sheets to stick to his bare skin. Nights like this weren’t uncommon since he had stopped taking lyrium. He was grateful that this particular evening wasn’t worse. In fact, in comparison to the thoughts running through his mind, the withdrawal was secondary tonight. Instead, thoughts of Evelyn demanded his attention.

She had nearly killed him in that blood red dress. It had hugged her waist, accentuating the curve of her body, and drew attention to her breasts in a way that was both tasteful and sinful. Had he not choked on his tea, he would have assumed himself dead on the spot. Such a vision could not be real. Perhaps she was a demon, tempting him to his own demise? But then as she joked and teased, he could not deny that it was, indeed, her. 

He made quick work of setting up the war horn, hoping to excuse himself before the tightening in his breeches became unbearable, but by the time he came in from the balcony she had undressed behind the divider, and his imagination betrayed him. 

Cullen rolled over, half free from his sheets. _Maker,_ how he ached for her. Had his arousal not been torture enough, she had grabbed onto his heart and crushed it as tears welled in her eyes, and he had been unable to stop himself from taking her into his arms. He had held her as she fought the tears, smelled the lavender in her hair, and felt every wall he had built crumbling as she fought for strength in his embrace.

Cullen had been good on his word. When all had been said and done, he had acquired a slice of chocolate cake and left it upon her desk with a glass of wine. Josephine had pulled her away for most of the evening, no doubt preparing her for Halamshiral, so enjoying it together had not been an option. As much as he regretted it, it was probably for the best. The thought of having her alone, relaxing after the day with dessert and drink, was too appealing - too _intimate_. She made him weak, and he would no doubt make a fool of himself. It was better this way.

So instead he lay there, trying to commit it all to memory until he fell asleep.

***

“Hear me out,” Sera said, holding up her hands for emphasis. “Bees.”

“Bees?” She and Evelyn stood in the garden, where Sera had set herself up with an alarming number of jars next to the flowering plants.

“Bees! Put ‘em in a jar, shake it to piss ‘em off a little, then chuck it at a demon. Way more fun than a normal fight. Works on other baddies too. Especially stuck up pricks. Ever see a puffed up noble run from bees? Hilarious.”

“Sera, that… almost makes sense. In a strange, terrifying sort of way, that is.”

“I knew you weren’t as big as you seemed! Oh, that would have been hilarious if you were a man, right? Wasted.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Evelyn said, grinning as she left Sera to… whatever it was she was attempting to do. 

“Gloat all you like, I have this one.”

“Are you… _sassing_ me, Commander? I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Why do I even… Inquisitor!” Cullen said, rising in his seat and knocking over a chess piece as she approached.

“Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?” Dorian taunted. Cullen sat again, glaring at the mage.

“Are you two playing nice?” Evelyn teased. She stood with her arms crossed, lips upturned in amusement.

“I’m _always_ nice,” Dorian replied. “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better.”

“Really?” Cullen said, moving his pawn. “Because I just won, and I feel fine.” He leaned back confidently in his chair. Dorian looked down at the board, and then up at the Commander.

“Don’t get smug. There will be no living with you.” He rose from his seat and sauntered back into the fortress. 

“I should get back to my duties as well,” Cullen said. “Unless… you would care for a game?” Evelyn smiled.

“Prepare the board, Commander.”

“As a child, I played this with my sister,” he said as she sat down. “She would get this stuck up grin whenever she won, which was all the time. My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won.” Cullen laughed as he recalled the memory. “Between serving the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays...”

“You have siblings?” 

“Two sisters, and a brother.”

“Where are they now?” Evelyn asked, moving one of her pieces.

“They moved to South Reach after the blight. I do not write to them as often as I should. Ah, it’s my turn.”

“You know, I’m also one of four siblings. I have two brothers and a sister.”

“Is that so? It seems we share that particular chaotic upbringing then. I know you said you had an older brother.”

“They’re all older. I’m the youngest.”

“So you’re the spoiled one,” Cullen teased. Evelyn feigned offense, and he laughed.

“My siblings might agree with you,” she said. “Mother was tough on us all, especially Aisling and I. She was determined to make us into proper ladies. But ask any one of them and they’ll tell you my father let me get away with murder.” Evelyn grinned. “I take it you’re not the family baby, then?”

“No,” Cullen chuckled. “That would be my sister, Rosalie. It’s the same thing, really. Seems fathers are weak for their youngest girls. I’m the second eldest, just after Mia. She was the one who constantly beat us at chess.”

“You’re about to relive those childhood defeats. This game is mine.” 

“Is that so? I think you underestimate me, Inquisitor.” Cullen grinned broadly, moving yet another pawn.

“You can’t bribe me with cake here,” Evelyn teased.

“So you found it?”

“I did. It was delicious. And I may have even indulged in a second glass of wine. Of course, I was a bit giddy after that, which made the cake taste even better, but all in all it was quite enjoyable. Thank you.” Cullen laughed.

“Two glasses is all it takes?” 

“You’ve been warned.”

“So I have.”

“It was much needed, after hours with Josephine. She means well, but I think she forgets that I’ve attended balls before. Consider this a warning - she’s sending the seamstress to you next.” 

“Do you think if I hide here long enough I’ll be safe?” Evelyn laughed.

“From Josephine, perhaps. But then she’ll send Leliana to find you, and I’m not sure that’s any better.”

“Sadly I think you’re right.” Cullen stretched in his seat. “This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition, or related matters. Aside from the clothing situation, of course, but to be honest I appreciate the distraction.” 

“We should spend more time together,” Evelyn suggested.

“I would… like that,” Cullen smiled.

“Me too.”

“You said that.” His voice dropped lower, and Evelyn found herself trapped in his eyes once again. “We should… finish our game, right? My turn?” 

“Right. Your turn.” Evelyn tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling a bit flustered. 

The game didn’t last much longer. After a few moves, Cullen grinned down at the board.

“I believe this one is mine,” he said smugly.

“What? How?” Evelyn exclaimed. He was right - he had captured her King.

“Dorian cheats at this too,” he chuckled. 

“If you grew up with Rowan you’d understand,” Evelyn pouted. 

“I believe it. It was actually quite clever, what you tried to do there. We’ll have to play again sometime.” 

They sat there for a moment, enjoying the quiet company and sunlight, but the world pulled them back to reality all too soon. 

“Commander!” 

“It seems I’m needed,” Cullen said regretfully. 

“I should return to my duties as well,” Evelyn said. There was a large stack of paperwork on her desk waiting for her.

“This was nice.”

“It was.”

“Commander, the reports you requested,” the scout said, approaching their table. 

“I’ll see you later,” Cullen sighed. Evelyn caught him looking after her before she disappeared through the castle door.

***

“Anything interesting?” Evelyn asked. Dorian stood in the library holding a letter. It had been a few days since she had interrupted his chess match with Cullen, and the mage had been uncharacteristically quiet.

“A letter regarding Felix, Alexius’s son,” he explained. “He went to the Magisterium, stood on the senate floor and told them of you. A glowing testimonial, I’m informed. No news on the reaction, but everyone back home is talking. Felix always was as good as his word.”

“Was?”

“He’s dead. The blight caught up with him.”

“Are you alright?” Evelyn said softly. Dorian remained unreadable, but she knew better.

“He was ill, and thus on borrowed time anyhow.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t regret his death.”

“I know.” Dorian sighed. “Felix used to sneak me treats from the kitchens when I was working late in his father’s study. ‘Don’t get into trouble on my behalf,’ I’d tell him. ‘I like trouble,’ he’d say. Tevinter could use more mages like him. Those who put the good of others above themselves.”

“He should be an example for others to follow, or his death is wasted.”

“Should I spread the word? We could spawn the Cult of Felix within a matter of days.”

“There are worse things.”

“Probably true. And you’re right. His actions should not be forgotten.” Dorian paused, staring down at the letter. “I ran into Fiona. Seems you have Alexius serving the mages? There’s some justice in that, after what he did to them. Maybe one day he’ll realize it.” He went back to his chair, picking up a book that sat beside him on the floor. “Thankfully, Felix wasn’t the only decent sort kicking around Thedas.” Evelyn smiled, then let him be. 

The sun was shining brightly over Skyhold as she made her way outside. She had picked up the habit of wandering the grounds when she wished to clear her head, but today her thoughts circled as she walked down the stone steps. 

She stopped at the bottom, peering up toward Cullen’s office on the battlements. As usual, a steady stream of soldiers made their way in and out, and Evelyn watched them as she recalled the events of the last days.

Evelyn had almost kissed him that day in her quarters. She had wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind, but the nagging rules of propriety, bred and beaten into her by years of her mother’s scolding, had stopped her. They had been in her _bedroom._ What would he think of her intentions, had she kissed him there? Not that she hadn’t wondered…

Evelyn shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought from her mind. She knew what was really stopping her, and it wasn’t just the rules of the nobility. Maker knew she had broken enough of those. 

It was fear.

She couldn’t help but remember the last time she had let herself fall in love. It had been years since her ill-fated romance with the stable boy in Ostwick. She was young, optimistic, too enthralled in the passion of young love to care for anything else. She would rise early each morning and go to the stables, stealing as much time with him as she could in a secluded corner before the rest of her family woke, and then take her horse out to cover her tracks. It had worked for a while. They spent many mornings that way, talking of nothing or locked in a kiss, too young and foolish to care. Every so often Evelyn would even sneak him into her bedroom, where a night of passion would end too soon when he left before the sun rose.

It couldn’t last. Evelyn was foolish to ever believe it could. The affair had been discovered, and the boy’s position at the Trevelyan Estate immediately terminated. She had sobbed on the parlor floor, begged her father to change his mind, but he wouldn’t budge. A stable hand was not a suitable match for a girl of her upbringing. 

And now Evelyn found herself once again harboring feelings for a man of no title. She stared up at the office, thinking of how he had held her together as she nearly came apart, of chess and of cake, of a tumble in the snow, when the realization came to her.

_I’m the Inquisitor._

Evelyn was, by all intents and purposes, a ruler in her own right. She was ranked _above_ her family. Try as they might, House Trevelyan no longer owned her. She was not bound to their will. For the first time in her life, her hand was her own.

Evelyn climbed the stairs to the battlements, pausing only to take a moment to calm her nerves. Then she knocked on Cullen’s door.

  
  


***

“ _Dear Mia, I’m still alive. Your loving brother, Cullen.”_

 _Honestly, is it so difficult? We thought you were dead._ _Again_ _. If the Inquisition was not on everyone’s lips, we would never have heard that their fine Commander survived Haven._

_We’ve been hearing strange things about the Templars lately. I am not sorry you left them. I thought your resignation was implied when you joined the Inquisition, but you meant something more, didn’t you?_

_It’s a fool's errand asking you to stay safe, but please try._

_Your loving sister, (See how easy it is?)_

_Mia_

Cullen put the letter down and sighed. He knew his sister was right, but for some reason he could never bring himself to write her. After Kinloch, it had been shame. He had failed even to notify her of his transfer to Kirkwall, and the guilt of it had postponed it even farther. He had done better when he joined the Inquisition, but his letters were still infrequent. Often he told himself he would do it on a day when he was less busy, and such a day never came. He dipped a quill into the inkpot, deciding it was better to just get it done. 

_Dear Mia,_

A sharp knock on the door halted his efforts, weak as they were. 

“Come in,” he called without raising his head.

“Are you busy?” her silvery voice asked, and Cullen jolted upright in his chair when he realized who it was.

“I can spare a moment,” he said awkwardly, dropping the quill back into the pot. Evelyn wore a warm set of dark leathers and a red scarf. She clasped her arm with one hand, rubbing it nervously.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No, not at all,” she said. I…” She paused as a scout passed through the office, leaving yet more reports on his desk, and didn’t speak again until they had shut the door behind them. “...thought we could talk. Alone.”

“ _Alone?_ I mean… of course.” He rose too quickly, hoping she didn’t notice him bang his knee against the desk, and was thankful he was dressed in armor. His nerves heightened as he opened the door, letting Evelyn through before following her out onto the battlements. 

“It’s… a nice day,” he said when they reached an unoccupied stretch of the walls. He scratched at his neck, looking around anxiously. 

“What?” 

“It’s… there was something you wished to discuss?” His voice sounded uncharacteristically high pitched, even to him. Evelyn glanced downward, then slowly up to meet his eyes.

“I… find myself thinking of you. More than… well… all the time, really,” she confessed.

Cullen stared at her stupidly, unsure he could believe what he’d heard. 

“I… can’t say I haven’t wondered what it would be like.” He took a few steps forward, too nervous to look at her. He was certain he must be bright red.

“What’s stopping you?” she asked, moving next to him. She placed a hand on the stone wall beside her. Cullen finally mustered the courage to turn and face her, needing to be sure this was what it seemed. He thought his heart might leap from his chest.

“You’re the Inquisitor, we’re at war. You… I didn’t think it was possible.” 

“And yet I’m still here.” 

“So you are,” Cullen smiled, sure no words had ever made him happier. “It seems too much to ask… but I want to.” She leaned back against the wall as he stepped toward her, slowly closing the distance between them. 

“Commander!”

They froze, Cullen’s hands on her hips, nearly against her. He slowly lifted his eyes as Evelyn glanced around awkwardly. 

“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report,” the scout continued, oblivious.

“ _What?_ ” Cullen growled, rounding on him. He glared daggers at the man before him, unaware of what he had just interrupted.

“Sister Leliana’s report? You wanted it delivered without delay.” Cullen stepped threateningly toward him, puffed up with anger. The scout looked about, eyes widening when he noticed Evelyn’s bright blush as she fidgeted awkwardly. “Or… to your office! Right.” Cullen glared after him until he disappeared behind the door.

“If you need to-” Evelyn began, but Cullen couldn’t bear to wait another second. He whipped around and took her face in his hands, backing her against the wall as his lips claimed hers. At first she stiffened in surprise, but then she kissed him back enthusiastically, releasing a quiet, high pitched sigh that nearly brought him to his knees. 

He pulled back, suddenly in fear that his impulsiveness had offended her. His eyes were apologetic as he studied her, failing to read her wide-eyed expression.

“I’m sorry! That was… um… really nice,” he admitted, smiling bashfully. The corner of Evelyn’s lip lifted into a playful smirk.

“ _That_ was what I wanted,” she grinned. Evelyn slid her hands up his chest and around the back of his neck. Cullen raised his brows, blushing deeper.

“ _Oh._ Good.” 

He smiled into her as he kissed her again, caring for nothing other than the feeling of Evelyn’s lips upon his. Everything else could wait.

  
  
  



	11. The Fallow Mire

Evelyn hummed to herself as she untacked her horse. The stables were quiet in the morning, and the old Free Marches tune carried through the otherwise silent air. Silly though she felt, Evelyn couldn’t keep from smiling as she worked, recalling yesterday’s encounter on the battlements. 

Despite the scout’s interruption, everything had been perfect. Cullen had caught her by surprise with his first kiss, pinning her to the wall with the force of it and setting her ablaze. Each one afterwards, though softer, had been just as wonderful. They knew it wouldn’t be long before they were caught in such a position, however, so they had parted ways on the battlements, Evelyn giggling like a child and wiping her lipstick from his face before leaving. She had yet to see him since, but Evelyn was due in the war room shortly for their meeting, and she was excited to see him again.

“Well, aren’t _you_ chipper this morning.”

Evelyn jumped and dropped the bridle, unaware that anyone else was around.

“Andraste’s tits, Dorian! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“It’s a wonder you aren’t dead yet, if you’re that unaware when someone is behind you.” Evelyn ignored the comment.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “When I last saw you-“

“Better, today. Thank you.” 

“Are you just saying that to avoid talking about it?”

“You know me _so_ well! But truly, I’m fine. Please don’t make me prove it by getting all sappy. You know I hate that.”

“If you insist. But anytime you want to talk, I’m here, alright?” 

“Should the impossible happen, you’ll be the first to know.” Evelyn picked up the bridle from the ground and hung it up on the wall. She didn’t press the matter. She knew what it was to grow up in the nobility - being constantly scrutinized, unable to falter for a second. They had been taught that discussing feelings was a sign of weakness. It was something she often struggled with as well.

“What brings you to the stables?” she said, changing the subject. “I never see you here unless we’re leaving Skyhold.”

“I was looking for you. Seems you have a thing for strapping young Templars, I see,” Dorian said, nonchalant.

“What’s this about?” Evelyn asked, forcing a neutral expression as the memory of Cullen’s sudden kiss returned to her.

“Oh, nothing. Just something I find rather _adorable_ about you. Though I must say I’m disappointed. Your little moment on the battlements lost me ten sovereigns.”

“How did you - you’re taking _bets?_ ” Evelyn exclaimed. 

“I’d stay away from Varric today, if I were you. He’s quite smug.” 

“Unbelievable.” She stalked off toward the fortress. Dorian was unperturbed.

“So, how was it? Have you cuddled and told him all your darkest secrets yet? Does he know you’re afraid of spiders?”

“I am _not_ afraid of spiders!”

“You screamed and hid behind Blackwall in that cave on the Storm Coast.”

“They were _huge!”_

“And you ran away shrieking when a normal sized one got into your tent.” Evelyn glared at the mage.

“You’re insufferable.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Dorian grinned, far too amused for Evelyn’s liking. “You know you love me. How could you not? We _are_ family, after all. Did you know we’re actually related, Inquisitor?” She cocked a brow as they started up the stairs.

“Related?”

“Oh, not first cousins or anything like that. Can you imagine?” he chuckled. “You’re a Trevelyan, however, and somewhere in the dank nethers of my family tree, there was _also_ a Trevelyan. Perhaps it was even the one who ventured to Ostwick to establish the branch? We _are_ talking long ago, of course.”

“You know that off the top of your head?”

“Not the top. Maybe the lower middle, or thereabouts. Bloodlines are serious business in Tevinter. You’re taught lessons and tested… by strict nannies.” 

“No, not the strict nannies!”

“I just _knew_ you’d understand. I heard your family mentioned, and I had to go through all the old mnemonics. But yes - there it is. I knew there was a reason we looked so much alike.” Evelyn snorted. There was no familial resemblance between them - other than the distinct sense of humor developed from an upbringing of inordinately high expectations, that is.

“Doesn’t that make our courtly flirtation a little awkward?”

“That depends on which branch of the family you come from,” Dorian teased. “Regardless, I think we’re still good to go by at least three ages.” 

“Does this mean I can drag you to the next horrific family event?” 

“Evelyn, dear, I’m not sure I love you _that_ much.”

“Ass.” 

“You wound me,” Dorian said, feigning offense. “Meet me for lunch?”

“Of course, _cousin._ ”

They split off in the main hall, Dorian taking the stairs up to the library and Evelyn down past Josephine’s office to the war room. The advisors looked up as she entered, and Cullen blushed brightly.

“Inquisitor! We were just-”

“ _Eagerly_ awaiting your presence. Some more than others,” Leliana said with a mischievous grin.

“I wasn’t… I mean, I _was…_ ” he spluttered, glaring at Leliana, who only looked even more amused. “We have work to do.”

“Of course,” she said. Cullen rubbed at his neck, but once attention had been turned elsewhere, he smiled shyly at Evelyn from across the table. She tucked her hair behind her ear, biting on her lower lip as she met his gaze. 

“...so we will be bringing in an arcanist to help us with matters regarding unusual magic and enchanted objects. She’ll be arriving soon,” Josephine said. “In addition to her arrival, we have also secured special trainers for you, Inquisitor.” 

“Trainers? For me?” Evelyn asked, pulled from her trance.

“There is no intended offense to your skill, Your Worship.”

“Now that you’re the Inquisitor, you’re a much bigger target,” Leliana explained. “This isn’t common combat training. We’ve hired the best of the best to teach you advanced skills.” 

“When will they arrive?”

“Any day now, Inquisitor. You need not study with all of them, but this will give you a chance to pick a discipline that suits you.” Evelyn nodded.

“Do we have any news on our missing soldiers?” she asked.

“My scouts have tracked them to a fortress in the Fallow Mire,” Leliana replied. Cullen analyzed the map on the table.

“It seems to be held by hostile Avvar, but should be easily infiltrated by a small party. That should be where you go next.” 

“I’ll ready my team,” Evelyn agreed. “How are things coming with the ball, Josephine?” 

“I have managed to secure invitations for the four of us, in the company of Grand Duke Gaspard. It is not quite what I’d hoped, but it will get us in. We may also bring three more guests of your choosing, but I’ll need to know who you wish to bring in advance so I may send the seamstress to them.”

“Sera, Bull, and Cole would just _love_ the Winter Palace, don’t you agree?” Evelyn grinned wickedly at Josephine’s horrified expression and Cullen’s stifled laughter. “I’m only teasing, Josie. Please send the seamstress to Cassandra, Dorian, and Vivienne.” 

“You are cruel, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, shaking her head as she jotted down the names. They finalized a few more details, including the use of a very eager recruit by the name of Sutherland and his young mercenary company, and then called the meeting to a close.

“Inquisitor, do you have a moment?” Cullen asked before she could leave the war room, reddening slightly. “There... are some things I wished to run by you.” It was all Evelyn could do to keep herself from grinning.

“I think I could spare a few minutes. Is it about that report from Captain Rylen?” 

“The… yes! Yes, it is. I just need you to… um…”

“Finalize the details. Of course.” 

“Have fun, you two!” Leliana called over her shoulder as she and Josephine walked away, giggling. Cullen’s blush, already present, deepened as he shut the door behind them. 

“I couldn’t wait to have you to myself again,” he confessed, wrapping his arms around her waist. Evelyn slid her own around the back of his neck.

“The Commander of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste,” she teased. “ _That_ will get people talking.” Cullen groaned.

“You wouldn’t believe how quickly gossip spreads through the barracks.”

“Not just the barracks. It seems Leliana, Josephine, Varric, and Dorian have found out already as well.” Cullen sighed. “Does it bother you?” Evelyn asked, running her fingers through his hair.

“I would prefer my - _our_ private affairs remain that way. But if there were nothing here for people to talk about, I would regret it more,” he said, then kissed her softly. “I’ll never tire of that.” 

“Then don’t stop.” 

“Never.”

He pulled her close with one hand and cupped her face with the other, kissing her tenderly as Evelyn trailed her hand down his arm. She kept the other behind his neck, pulling him to her and deepening the kiss. The mood changed as he responded, backing her toward the war table without releasing and then lifting her onto it. He stood between her legs and held her by the waist, tongues meeting as their kiss became more urgent. Evelyn kept one arm around him and extended the other behind her for support, knocking over a few pawns in the process.

“Cullen,” Evelyn breathed, bringing things to a halt. He pulled back immediately, concern in his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” 

“No! It’s not that, it’s…” How could she put this? “It’s just… it’s alright to… _touch_ me, you know,” she said, heat rising in her face. As wonderful as kissing him was, Evelyn could sense how careful he had been with his hands. Cullen blushed brightly. “If you want to, that is. I didn’t mean… you know.” She stared into his chest, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. 

“I _do_ \- I mean-” He sighed. “It’s… been a while since I’ve been in this sort of… _situation_. And I would never want to make you uncomfortable,” he said. 

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” Evelyn assured. “Excited, and a bit nervous, perhaps, but not uncomfortable.” 

“I make you nervous?”

“Not in a _bad_ way. It’s just… it’s been a long time for me as well, and I care for you. And you’re _very_ handsome, which doesn’t help,” she said coyly. Cullen seemed surprised. 

“Evelyn, I can’t imagine how someone like you could be nervous around me. Do you know how beautiful you are? How incredible? You could have any man you want. I can still hardly believe this is real. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Cullen.” She placed her hand on the side of his face, then slowly pressed her lips to his. “I want _you._ ”

“I-”

They froze as someone knocked on the war room door. Cullen quickly placed her back onto the floor and readjusted the misplaced pawns. 

“I have dignitaries arriving shortly, if you wish to leave the war room before they arrive,” Josephine called through the door. Evelyn could hear the amusement in her voice. 

“Thank you, Josephine,” she replied, grinning like a child caught who had been caught misbehaving. She turned back to Cullen. “I hate to say it, but we should probably get back to work. And I promised Dorian I would meet him for lunch. Steal me away again later?” Cullen grinned.

“Every chance I get.”

They stole one last indulgent kiss behind the closed doors before Evelyn made her way down the hall. Cullen stared after her, appreciating her form fitting leathers, until the sound of Josephine’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“ _Cullen_.”

“I’m sorry, Josephine. You were saying something?”

“You have lipstick on your face.”

***

_Be careful._

Those had been the last words Cullen had said to her before Evelyn and her team had left for the Fallow Mire. She had kissed him in his office and promised she would, then climbed down the stone steps and rode from the fortress as he watched her from his window. She had been earnest when she spoke the words, but after her arrival briefing in the Fallow Mire, she realized her promise wouldn’t be easy to keep. 

“Thank you for coming,” Scout Harding had said. “Maybe you can solve this mess. Our missing patrols are being held hostage by Avvar - barbarians from the mountains.”

“What are they doing in a bog?” Evelyn surveyed her surroundings. The Mire was dark and gloomy. A dense fog covered the ground and the rain fell steadily. Every muddy step squished beneath their boots.

“That’s the thing - their leader? He wants them to fight you because you’re the Herald of Andraste.”

“What do they have against Andraste?” Evelyn asked. She knew the Avvar weren’t Andrastian, but why such hostility?

“Well, the Avvar think there are gods in nature, as in the sky has a god, and the forest. The Avaar say you’re claiming to be sent by one, and they’ll challenge the will of your god with their own.” Her face contorted into a grimace. “I think their leader’s just a boastful little prick who wants to brag he killed you. And there’s more. We received this note from one of our soldiers.” Evelyn unfolded the letter, spotted from the falling rain. 

_Warn the Herald her life is in danger if she comes to the Mire. Our patrol spotted Avvar three days ago. We didn’t understand why they came down from the Frostbacks until we were captured in an ambush. Their leader said they came because they heard the Inquisition was in the area. They want to lure out and kill the Herald of Andraste to win favor with their gods._

_I escaped, but I can’t free the others without help. I’ve found a good camping spot for a rescue party. Will tend my wounds before heading off._

_Scout Aubrey Greenhome_

So much for being careful.

“Should I autograph something for him before he tries to behead me?” Evelyn asked. Harding smirked.

“They think reading is for the weak. You know - scholars, lowlanders, Orleasian peasants. Getting to our troops won’t be easy. You’ll have to fight your way through undead. Wait… you’re not squeamish about undead are you?”

“They’re not on the list of my favorite monsters,” Evelyn admitted, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not letting the Avvar butcher the Inquisition’s people.”

“You’ll want to stay out of the water then,” Harding advised. “The Avvar are holed up in a castle on the other side of the Fallow Mire. Maker willing, the Inquisition’s people are still alive.”

After the briefing, the team trekked deep into the Mire. Undead lurked throughout, and if that wasn’t enough, demons had appeared near strange veilfire beacons. The area showed signs of a devastating plague, and the bodies of the dead, having never been laid to rest, rose once again from the waters.

“The mud wants my feet to stay.”

“That isn’t the mud, Cole!” Evelyn pulled him from the water’s edge before they disturbed yet another swarm of corpses.

“‘Hey Chief! Let’s join the Inquisition! Good fights for a good cause!’” Bull said, mocking his second in command. “I don’t know, Krem. I hear there are demons. ‘Ah, don’t worry about the demons, Chief, I’m sure we won’t see many!’” Bull swung his warhammer, striking down a corpse as it emerged from the murky water. “Asshole. If I get possessed, feint on my blindside, then go low. Cullen says I leave myself open.” 

“No one is getting possessed!” Evelyn insisted. “The fortress is up ahead. Just… stay away from the water.”

“Few things last long here,” Solas said as they continued on. “Mud and water bury forever what they cannot erode.”

“So many old songs under the water.” Cole’s observations were doing nothing for Evelyn’s nerves. Or Bull’s, for that matter.

“And I’d prefer it if they stayed there.” Bull held his weapon at the ready, prepared to strike at any moment. “You two just work whatever that is out of your system. Like poison. Weird-ass poison.”

“Agh!” Evelyn cried out as the anchor flared, sparking green around her gloved hand. 

“You alright, Boss?” Evelyn grit her teeth.

“I’m fine. There must be a rift around here somewhere. Be ready.”

It didn’t take long to find. They rounded the corner of another plague-ridden cabin and there it was, glowing eerie green before them. Evelyn struck a demon with her blade, then stabbed behind her into another. The team followed suit, disposing of them quickly, then Evelyn held up the anchor, closing the rift with a stream of green light. Once the immediate threat was gone, they surveyed the surrounding area.

“There’s still no sign of the Avvar who want to challenge me. Or the Inquisition’s soldiers.” Evelyn was growing more on edge with every passing minute. She prayed they would reach the patrol in time.

“Everything is afraid,” Cole said, looking worried. “I can’t hear the soldiers.” Evelyn’s eyes narrowed on a towering figure in the distance.

“Who is that?” she asked. The party readied their weapons as she led them forward. The Avvar stood taller even than Bull, and carried a massive warhammer. 

“So _you’re ‘_ Herald of Andraste.’ My kin want you dead, lowlander, but it’s not my job. No fears from me.” 

“The other Avvar captured an Inquisition patrol. Are they alright?” Evelyn demanded, her voice unwavering despite her nerves. 

_Please let them be safe._

“A few were injured in the skirmish, but they were all alive, last I saw them. Someone’s trained them well. They killed more of us than I thought they would.” Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief, and thanked the Maker for Cullen’s training.

“I thought the Avvar wanted to fight me. Why haven’t you tried?”

“The chieftain’s son wants to fight you,” the Avvar clarified. “I’m called in when the dead pile up. Rites to the gods, mending the bleeding, a dagger for the dying. That’s what I do. I don’t pick up a blade for a whelp’s trophy hunt.” 

“Thank you,” Evelyn said, realizing she had been more aggressive than necessary. “Farewell then.”

“Watch the water.” 

It was not long before they approached the castle. They stood at the end of a long path that led to the open gate. Undead patrolled like a castle guard, carrying swords and bows and ready to attack.

“There’s too many of them,” Bull said from where they hid, out of sight. “We can’t take them all at once. Not without a choke point.”

“What about the gate?” Evelyn asked. “We could make a stand there.” Bull shook his head.

“We could hold them off there, but not for long. Not with only the four of us. Our best bet would be to have three of us hold the gate while someone finds the lever to close it. Shut them outside. I think you should do it, Boss. You’re quick. Agile.” Evelyn nodded.

“Will you three be alright?” Her team gave their assents. Bull pointed toward the gates.

“An old fortress like that, the lever is probably on a second level - somewhere the gatekeeper would be able to see who’s coming. You run straight through. Don’t let us stop you or slow you down. Don’t engage the enemy if you don’t have to. We’ll be fine as long as you get through. Let us go first to get their attention, then don’t let anything stop you from getting through the gate.”

Evelyn held back while Bull led the charge, immediately clashing with undead. He swung his warhammer through several of the corpses while Cole landed deadly blows and Solas cast spells from afar. Once her companions had their attention, Evelyn ran.

She swerved through the hordes and leaped over bodies and debris, ducking arrows and swords as she went. Her team followed behind, though more slowly. They held off as many as they could as she ran through the gates, taking up position to keep the undead out of the fortress. 

Evelyn was greeted by three hostile Avvar. One came at her on the ground, and she stabbed forcefully into his chest, killing him instantly. The other two released arrows from an elevated wooden ramp. Evelyn started up it, throwing each of her daggers and taking them down, not stopping until she reached the top of the fortress. 

She peered around the wet stone until she found it - an old, rusted lever at the top of the fort, just as Bull had described. 

“Get in!” she shouted to her companions as she pulled it downward. They dove through the gate as it lowered, leaving the undead behind them, reaching uselessly through the gaps in the iron.

“Nice work, Boss,” Bull said as she sauntered back down the ramp, retrieving her daggers.

“Thanks, Bull. But we’re not done yet.”

“I suspect the rest of the Avvar are up that path just ahead,” Solas said, pointing to a muddy trail that was now accessible. 

“Come on. We need to rescue that patrol.”

“Herald of Andraste!” a voice boomed as they reached the end of the path. They had reached another fortified enclosure. Large pieces of broken stone scattered the floor, and a large Avvar - the chieftain’s son, Evelyn presumed, stood surrounded by others. “Face me! I am the Hand of Korth himself!” 

“It’s me you want! Let my people go and let’s settle this,” Evelyn commanded.

“We will settle it, Champion of Andraste, but only when Korth has reigned victorious!”

The Avvar attacked, and Evelyn resigned that diplomacy would not be an option. Solas cast a barrier to shield them as the party faced their assailants. Bull held the attention of those with large shields, allowing Cole to strike from behind, as Evelyn beelined for the Hand of Korth. He was massive - perhaps slightly less so than the Avvar they had met earlier, but not by much. He carried a warhammer and wore a helm adorned with large, curved horns.

Evelyn circled him, just out of reach of his hammer, and waited for him to strike. She rocked backward as he swung at her, then stabbed at a weak spot in his armor as the momentum stopped him from defending. She drew blood, but the warrior was undeterred. He swung again, and Evelyn leaped out of the way. She came up behind him and kicked the back of his knee. The Avvar stumbled and dropped his weapon, attempting to regain his balance. 

“You’re a pesky one, Herald. Andraste has sent a worthy champion. It will make defeating you even sweeter.” He shoved Evelyn backwards, and she cried out as her foot caught on a large slab of rock, twisting her ankle painfully. She forced herself back to her feet as the Avvar retrieved his hammer. 

“She sends her regards, I’m sure,” she seethed. Evelyn extended the anchor before her and surrounded the Avvar with a blast of swirling green, draining him until he collapsed, lifeless, on the ground. 

“That was magnificent!” Solas exclaimed, catching her just before she could collapse herself. Her ankle throbbed with every step. “Is that what happened after Haven?”

“Yes. But it’s exhausting. I can’t do it often.” She hissed as she tried to stand on her own, then resigned herself to leaning on Solas for support. Cole and Bull approached from behind, having taken care of the last of the hostile Avvar.

“You alright there, Boss?” 

“I’m fine,” Evelyn lied. “We have to find our men.” 

“I hear them!” Cole exclaimed. “Behind that door!”

Evelyn forced herself to stand and hurried to the door, wincing with each step, then knelt to pick the lock.

“Who’s there?” she heard a voice call from inside. 

“The Inquisitor! I’ve dealt with the Avvar. I’m getting you out of there!” Evelyn replied. She heard muffled cheers from behind the door as the lock clicked open. 

“Herald of Andraste!” a soldier saluted when she opened the door.

“Is everyone alright?” she asked, surveying the small room. Evelyn was relieved to see the soldiers seemed mostly well. Some sat on benches along the walls, though two laid on the floor with minor injuries. 

“Yes, Your Worship. The injured need some rest, but we can return on our own.”

“Are you certain? The Mire is crawling with undead.”

“We’ll be fine. Thank you, Your Worship.”

“Here,” Evelyn said, handing her a few healing potions. “That should get you on your way sooner. Be careful out there.”

_Be careful._

Her broken promise followed her as she left them, trying her best to hide the limp in her gait. 

“I can’t believe the Herald came for us,” a soldier said behind them.

“I told you she’d come,” another replied. 

“How’s that ankle, Boss?” Bull asked once they were out of sight of the soldiers.

“I’ll be fine. Just… give me a minute.” The limp had gotten worse with each step back toward the gates, and she leaned on Solas and Cole for support. 

“It likely needs treatment, but we’re low on supplies. And you just gave our potions to the soldiers,” Solas said. 

“They needed it more.”

“We’ll have to get back to camp. We can take care of it there. Will you manage?”

“I’ll make it,” Evelyn insisted.

“Stabbing, shooting, agony with every step. Boot feels tighter, squeezing. Can’t let them worry, but it hurts. Maker, it hurts!” Evelyn glared at Cole.

“That’s it,” Bull said.

“Bull, I’m… What are you…? _Bull!”_

He had picked her up and thrown her over his shoulder, holding her legs in front of him while she yelled into his back.

“Put me _down,_ Bull! This is ridiculous!”

“Sorry, Boss. I’m already in a brace for life. Don’t need you in one too.” 

Her protests were useless, but that didn’t stop her from complaining all the way back to camp.

***

Cullen stood in the courtyard as the soldiers dispersed. He was pleased with their progress. Some of the recruits hadn’t even known how to hold a sword when they arrived - now this group was nearly ready for battle. 

It had been a busy day. Cullen had already calibrated the trebuchets, revised the guard rotation, met with Fiona, reviewed reports, and trained the soldiers. While it wasn’t unusual for him to keep busy, Cullen knew he was looking for a distraction. Evelyn was due back from the Fallow Mire any moment. It was all he could do to keep himself from spending the whole day watching for her, so he had thrown himself into his work while he awaited her return. 

“The soldiers are making progress.” Cullen turned to find Cassandra walking toward him, looking after the soldiers in approval.

“This group has trained hard. They’ll be combat ready soon enough.”

“You’ve done good work. The Inquisitor is returning today?” 

“Any minute now.” Cullen tried not to sound too eager, but judging by Cassandra’s knowing smile, he had failed. 

“How is that going? This thing between you?” Cullen blushed brightly. The news had spread like wildfire, despite his attempts at discretion. 

“It’s… going well,” he said awkwardly. This sort of conversation was not in his expertise.

“Are you happy?”

Was he happy? How long had it been since someone had asked him that? How long had it been since he asked that of _himself?_ Cullen wasn’t even sure he knew what happiness _was_ anymore, but he was certain he found it in the taste of her lips and the sound of her laugh. 

_It’s alright to…_ touch _me, you know._

Then there was _that_ \- the words that had inspired some sinful dreams as he longed for her return to Skyhold. Happiness wasn’t the only feeling she brought him, but even when he was convinced she was a desire demon sent to torture him, he still enjoyed every minute of it.

“Yes. I am,” he said at last. Cassandra smiled.

“I’m glad to hear it. You deserve it, Cullen.”

“I… thank you, Cassandra.”

“Raise the gates! It’s the Inquisitor!” a scout called from the battlements. Cullen’s heart leapt. He turned to Cassandra, who waved him off.

“Go get her,” she said. Cullen grinned, then headed for the gates. 

***

Evelyn dressed as quickly as she could. Cullen had been waiting for her upon her arrival to Skyhold, and though she had wanted nothing more than to spend time with him, she was filthy from their travels. Instead, she had greeted him (though not as warmly as she wished, since they lacked the privacy) and promised to meet him in his office as soon as she had bathed. 

She laced up her boots and rushed down the stairs, her movement no longer restricted since Solas had healed her ankle, and didn’t stop until she reached Cullen’s door.

He was waiting for her, uncharacteristically out of his armor, which had been set aside on a rack in the corner. Instead, he wore a simple shirt and breeches. 

“I missed you,” he confessed, taking her into his arms and kissing her deeply.

“I missed you, too.” It was true. He had occupied her thoughts for most of their journey, and the return trip to Skyhold had felt agonizingly slow. 

“I have something for you.” He grinned excitedly, then took her hand and led her toward the door to the battlements.

“Where are we going?” Evelyn couldn’t help but smile, too. His excitement was infectious. 

“It’s a surprise.” He planted one more chaste kiss on her lips before opening the door and leading her down the stairs.

“You know, most surprises I receive lately want to kill me.”

“This one won’t. I promise.”

He led her to the stables, then insisted she cover her eyes. Evelyn laughed at his high spirits and did as he asked, covering her eyes with one hand and letting him lead her with the other. 

“Alright, open them.”

Evelyn gasped. She stood in front of a stall that held a beautifully bred Free Marches Ranger. The horse snorted softly, it’s white coat shining in the setting sunlight.

 _“Cullen,”_ Evelyn said, shocked.

“Do you like her?” he asked, sliding an arm around Evelyn’s waist and softly kissing her cheek.

“I _love_ her! I can’t believe you remembered! But how did you…?”

“Dennet knows a breeder who has a fondness for them. They’re not common in Ferelden, but he was more than happy to provide a mount for the famed Inquisitor. I was warned this one was a fast, spirited thing. She’s quite a personality, but I must say she reminds me of you. I think you’ll be a perfect match.” Evelyn scratched the horse’s face as she nuzzled into her hand. She shared an astonishing likeness to the horse Evelyn had grown up riding in Ostwick, and the little reminder of home was worth more than she could say.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she beamed. “You don’t know what this means to me.” 

“There’s one more thing,” Cullen said, guiding her toward the tack. He led her to a lightweight, Free Marches style saddle. On the back of the seat, she found three symbols stamped into the leather: the Andrastian sunburst, the crest of House Trevelyan, and the sign of the Inquisition. 

“She’s a bit small for the Ferelden tack, so we had a special set made for you,” he explained. “Besides, you spend so much time on horseback. I want you to be comfortable.” Evelyn was overwhelmed with the thoughtfulness of the gift. 

“Is Dennet around?” she asked. Cullen shook his head.

“I believe he’s retired for the evening. Is there something you-”

Evelyn pulled him to her in an urgent kiss, which, after a moment of surprise, Cullen returned enthusiastically. They moved toward the corner, lips locked together, knocking over a metal bucket which clanged against the ground as it went rolling. Cullen smiled into her as he cupped her face, pressing her to the wall while she explored his chest with her hands. Evelyn was thankful he had chosen to forgo the armor. 

He slid his hands from her face down her neck and arms, then slipped them around her waist, lowering them slowly until they landed on her lower back, unsure if they should explore any further.

“Can I…?” he asked, moving his lips to her jaw. 

“Please.” Evelyn placed her own hands on top of his, guiding them to her bottom and sighing appreciatively as he kissed her neck. The sound urged him on, and he pressed his hips to hers, leaving one hand on her rear as the other travelled up to her chest. Evelyn pulled his lips back to hers, tongues meeting as she pressed herself into him, entangling her fingers in his hair. She nipped at his lower lip, and Cullen growled as he smirked against her, gripping her hips in his hands.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, pulling back. His voice was gruff and his eyes had darkened, glazed over as he looked at her longingly.

“Is something the matter?” Evelyn asked.

“No! No, it’s not that! It’s perfect - I mean, _you’re_ perfect, it’s just...” He sighed. “Will you ever stop turning me into a stammering fool?” Evelyn smirked.

”I certainly hope not.” Cullen took her hands within his own, rubbing his thumb over them as he glanced down sheepishly.

“We can’t do this here, in the stables. You’re no common farm girl. Not that I would-” he blushed brightly at her mischievous smile. “You’ve only just returned. I should at least feed you first.” 

“Cullen, I’m fine. _Really,”_ she insisted as he started to protest. Cullen had no idea just _how_ comfortable she was in the corner of the stables, but that wasn’t a subject she wished to bring up now. Unfortunately, her stomach decided to grumble at just that moment, and Cullen chuckled at her indignant expression.

“Come on,” he said, kissing her knuckles. “Let’s get you some dinner.” 

“And cake?” she asked hopefully. Cullen laughed.

“And cake.”

  
  



	12. Figures from the Past: Part I

_Ostwick, 9:33 Dragon_

_Evelyn urged the horse onward as she crouched into jumping position, her eyes fixed on the hurdle ahead. She reached it in seconds, skillfully adjusting her balance as the horse leapt over it and landed clear on the other side._

_“Good girl!” Evelyn praised, patting the white mare. It had taken months of work, but she was certain the horse was shaping up to be a sport horse after all._

_“Evelyn, dove, would you come here for a moment?”_

_Evelyn looked to where Bann Trevelyan stood near the stables. He was accompanied by Hendrik, the head groom, and a young man she didn’t recognize. She turned the mare’s nose and trotted over._

_“And here is my youngest,” her father said proudly as she dismounted. Evelyn smoothed out her velvet riding coat with gloved hands, her polished boots shining in the afternoon sun. Neatly plaited hair fell over one shoulder, and she gripped the reins of her horse in one hand, guiding her toward her father and his company. “Evelyn, there is someone I wish to introduce you to. This is Donovan Braxton, our new groom. Serah Braxton, I present my youngest daughter, Evelyn. I daresay you’ll see quite a bit of her. My girl is a fine equestrian.”_

_“A pleasure to meet you,” Evelyn greeted cordially. The new stable hand appeared about her age. He was a bit taller than she, lean, with muscle built from outdoor labor. His brown eyes were warm, and light freckles scattered his cheeks and nose._

_“The pleasure is all mine, my lady. You are as lovely as your father said.”_

_“You’re too kind.”_

_“Do you have much experience with the Free Marches Ranger, Serah?” her father asked._

_“I’m afraid most of my work has been with Ferelden Forders, my lord. But I admire the breed. They are fine horses.”_

_“You’re Ferelden?” Evelyn asked. The boy smiled._

_“I am. My family was among many that came to the Free Marches during the blight. I’m thankful for the opportunity to serve your family.”_

_“You’ll have to be careful with this one,” the Bann said, gazing wearily at the horse. “She’s a spirited thing.”_

_“The horse, or your daughter?” Henrik asked. Her father laughed heartily._

_“I suppose they do share that trait. Perhaps that’s why they get along. That horse only likes Evelyn. I’ve tried to sell it, but the girl insists we keep the mare.”_

_“You just have to know how to work with her, father. I’ve got her jumping now, after all.”_

_“An impressive feat, my dear little dove. Maybe you’ll prove me wrong about her. But enough idle talk, your mother and sister are waiting for you. You haven’t forgotten the Bayarts are arriving soon? You’re expected at tea.”_

_She had, in fact, forgotten, which only made the reminder that much more disappointing._

_“Perhaps I could go with you and Aspen instead?”_

_“Sorry, dove. A hunt is no place for a young lady. Your mother needs you to help entertain your cousins. I’ll be there shortly to greet them. I just need to finish giving Serah Braxton a tour of the grounds.” Evelyn sighed._

_“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your guests, my lord. Perhaps I could assist with your daughter’s horse?” the groom said._

_“Eager to work, are you? Good lad! Evelyn, finish showing him around when you’re done. And do be timely about it - I can only spare you from your cousins for so long.” Evelyn smiled._

_“Thank you, father. I’ll be there shortly.” Bann Trevelyan left to greet their guests, Henrik in tow._

_“May I take your horse, my lady?” the young groom asked._

_“You could try,” Evelyn teased. “Though I wouldn’t recommend it, unless you’re inclined to get kicked. Another groom was sporting a hoof-shaped bruise just last week.”_

_“You don’t think it would look good on me? A shame. I suppose I won’t be getting a horseshoe tattooed after all.” Evelyn laughed, and he smiled brightly._

_“If that’s what you want, don’t let me stop you.” She led the horse to a post and traded the bridle for a harness, which the boy took and hung on the wall._

_“Thank you, Serah Braxton,” she said, moving on to unbuckle the girth._

_“I would prefer Donovan, my lady, if that’s alright by you.”_

_“Only if Evelyn is alright by you.” He grinned._

_“As you wish, Evelyn. Really, I should take care of the horse. Your father is paying me well, it isn’t right to have you do my work.”_

_“Anyone who rides should be capable of caring for their own horse,” Evelyn said simply. “Besides, I enjoy it. It’s better than listening to my cousins whine, anyway. No amount of tea and cakes is worth that suffering.” Donovan laughed._

_“It seems family is family, regardless of title. I could say the same of some of my own relatives.”_

_“Then you’ll understand why being out here is preferable. That, and I’m certain mother is plotting to make me sing again. ‘Evelyn, dear, what was that song I heard you practicing in your lesson this morning? I’m sure your aunt would just_ love _to hear it!’ She knows I hate it, but any excuse to put me on display.”_

_“I might display your riding skills, in her position. I saw you jumping, you’re quite good.”_

_“Flatterer,” Evelyn teased. Donovan grinned._

_“That I may be. Does it offend you?” He stood across from her on the other side of the horse and slid the saddle off. To Evelyn’s surprise, the mare remained calm, doing nothing more than glance toward the man at her side._

_“If I said I enjoyed it, what then?”_

_“Then I will need to flatter you more often.” They finished untacking, and Evelyn watched in shock as Donovan led the horse to pasture without incident._

_“I can’t believe she likes you,” Evelyn said, mystified._

_“Is that so hard to believe?”_

_“Maybe you are a_ bit _likeable.”_

_“Then I may die happy knowing you think so,” Donovan joked with a crooked grin. Evelyn shook her head, unable to keep the corners of her lips from turning upward._

_“It seems I’m supposed to finish your tour of the grounds. Hopefully that will keep me from my cousins for a while.”_

_“I’ll be sure to walk slowly and ask a lot of questions.” Evelyn smiled in full now._

_“A tempting offer, but I shouldn’t get you in trouble on your first day.”_

_“Perhaps another day, then?”_

_“Perhaps,” she said coyly. He stepped to the side, gesturing outward with his arm._

_“Lead the way.”_

***

  
Evelyn followed Solas through the village. It was quiet, aside from the crunching of her boots in the freshly fallen snow. 

“Why here?” she asked. 

“Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you.”

“We talked about that already.” It was a crisp mountain morning, and Evelyn could see her breath as they made their way into the Chantry and down to the cells.

“I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor,” Solas said, looking at the cell that had held her after the Conclave. 

“I’m glad someone was watching over me.” Her few intact memories following the Conclave explosion were filled with confusion and fear. She took comfort in knowing someone had been there.

“You were a mystery. You still are,” Solas declared, turning to her. “I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.” 

“Cassandra’s like that with everyone,” Evelyn said, half-joking as she recalled her own meeting with the Seeker.

“Yes,” Solas chuckled. He turned, leading them back up the stairs and outside. “You were never going to wake up. How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade? I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra, nor she in me. I was ready to flee.”

“The breach threatened the whole world. Where did you plan to go?” He smiled at the question.

“Someplace far away where I might research a way to repair the breach before its effects reached me.” Evelyn cocked a brow. “I never said it was a good plan,” he conceded. Solas stepped forward, drawing her attention to the scarred sky.

“I told myself, ‘One more attempt to seal the rifts.’” He thrust his hand forward dramatically, and Evelyn had to stifle laughter at the showmanship. “I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and _then…_ ” 

Evelyn saw the flash of green, the anchor closing the first rift in the mountains as Solas held her arm outward, but the vision was gone as soon as it came.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” Solas said. “You had sealed it with a gesture! And right then, I felt the whole world change.”

“It was that impressive to see me awake?” Evelyn asked.

“You had walked in the _Fade!_ I have explored the Fade more than anyone alive, but even I can only visit in dreams. But _you_ … you might have been able to visit me here while awake.”

“What do you mean?” Solas grinned.

“Where did you think we were?”

Evelyn glanced around. Despite their wandering, the snow appeared undisturbed at their feet even though she had heard the crunch as she walked. Haven appeared peaceful in the sunny morning, but… 

_That’s not right._

The buildings stood intact, but Evelyn had seen them burn to the ground, bodies scattered and crimson blood soaking the snow. Haven had been destroyed.

“This isn’t real,” she realized.

“That’s a matter of debate,” Solas said mischievously. “Probably best discussed after you… _wake up!”_

Evelyn bolted upright in bed. She looked around for Solas, half expecting him to be there, but she was very much alone in her quarters. It was early still, but later than she normally rose. She would have to skip her usual morning ride.

But what _was_ that? A dream, of some sort, but it felt far more real, more vivid than any normal dream. And she _remembered_ it - the details remained sharp even after waking. Solas had said he had explored the Fade in such ways before. He had told her fantastic tales of battles long forgotten and memories of those who had come before. Perhaps he had...

_Wait._

Evelyn threw back her blankets, dressing and readying herself as quickly as possible before running down the stairs and through the hall to the rotunda. Solas stood by his desk, bent over a large book. He grinned when he noticed her presence.

“Sleep well?” 

“You brought me through the Fade - through a dream, the way you explore the past.”

“Yes, I did.” He didn’t elaborate, sensing a question at the tip of her tongue.

“You told me once you went to Ostagar. You saw the Hero of Ferelden light the signal fire, witnessed Loghain retreat with his army, you saw the darkspawn overwhelm King Cailan.”

“That is true.” He waited patiently, curiosity piqued. Evelyn swallowed.

“Can you find my memories? If we go back to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, can you bring them back? Can we find out what happened at the Conclave?”

Solas opened his mouth, then closed it again, furrowing his brow as he contemplated the idea.

“I hadn’t considered… but _perhaps,_ under the right conditions…” he pondered the idea, then broke into a wide grin. “I can make no promises. We can’t say for sure why your memories are gone, nor what’s been done to make them inaccessible to you. But it could be worth a try.”

That was enough for Evelyn. 

“Prepare yourself to leave. I’ll ready Cassandra and Varric. They were there as well, perhaps they can be of some help.” She rushed for the door, but paused, turning back to her friend and beaming. “Thank you, Solas. You don’t know what this means.” He smiled and nodded as she disappeared from the doorway. 

She found Cassandra and Varric with little trouble and told them of the plan. The team prepared for an immediate departure. As things were set in motion, Evelyn crossed the battlements to Cullen’s office, her final stop before leaving Skyhold.

“Cullen?” she called as she knocked on the door to his office.

“Come in,” he called from inside. Evelyn found him sitting at his desk. Ordinarily he rose to greet her, but today, he remained seated in front of a large pile of reports. His pallor was pale and his forehead gleamed with sweat. 

“You’re ill,” she said, concerned. She pulled a kerchief from the pocket of her armor and dabbed at his forehead, then rested the back of her hand against him. “Cullen, you’re burning up. Let me fetch Solas, maybe he can-”

“Evelyn,” Cullen said, catching her hand before she could run out. “You need Solas to go with you. He can’t be here tending to me.”

“I don’t have to go right away. I could stay.”

“No,” Cullen insisted. “I’m fine. Don’t let me keep you.” He forced a smile in an attempt to prove it, but Evelyn didn’t buy it. She closed the report that sat in front of him and secured the lid back on his pot of ink.

“Evelyn, what are you…?”

“You’re done for the day. I’ll leave, as scheduled, but only if you promise to go to bed.” Cullen started to protest, but that damned look in her eyes stopped him - there was no reasoning with her once it appeared. Trevelyan stubbornness could not be swayed.

“I’ll be alright,” he attempted, guiding her into his lap. “I can’t ignore my duties all day. It’s just a headache. I’ve had much worse.” She searched his eyes with worry, then noticed the small vial of oakmoss oil that sat on his desk. Cullen followed her gaze. Her brow furrowed as she turned back to him, bringing her nose to his temple. 

Oakmoss. The scent was stronger than usual, and accompanied by something else… elderflower?

She pressed her lips lightly to his forehead, then moved to stand behind him and gently massaged his temples. He sighed appreciatively. 

“Do the herbs help?” she asked. 

“The herbs?”

“Oakmoss and elderflower. They’re anti-inflammatory. You use them often.” He sighed again, this time in resignation. It seemed nothing got past Evelyn.

“I… find them soothing,” he admitted. 

“Are we well-stocked?” She slipped one hand to the back of his neck, working out the tension in the muscles she could reach with his armor. 

“Yes, they’re easy enough to come by,” he said, emitting a soft sound of contentment at her touch. 

“Good. I haven’t changed my mind, Cullen. You’re going to bed. Consider it an order, if you must. And I’m sending Leliana to check on you.” Cullen groaned.

“Is that really necessary?” 

“Since you’ll be back to work the moment I leave if I don’t arrange otherwise? Yes, it is.”

“I suppose there’s no convincing you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Evelyn smiled playfully.

“Fine. I’ll go to bed. But I’m taking my work with me.” 

“I suppose that’ll have to do.” She came around to his side, arm resting on the back of his chair. “Are you sure you’ll be alright? I don’t mind staying.” 

“I’m fine, Evelyn. Please go. If there’s a chance to regain your lost memories, you need to take it. I’ll see you as soon as you get back. Don’t worry about me.” He tilted his head upward to receive a soft kiss. Evelyn remained close, holding his eyes with hers.

“Write to me if you need me to come back. I mean it, Cullen. If things get worse, I’ll return. Now get to bed.”

“You’re really not going to leave until I do,” he observed.

“No. I’m not.” Cullen sighed.

“Alright, I’m going.” 

Cullen climbed the ladder, a small stack of reports in hand. Evelyn shook her head as she left. It was a miracle she had gotten him to agree at all. With any luck, he would fall asleep and leave the reports for tomorrow.

***

“Can you tell me about the Seekers, Cassandra?” Evelyn asked as they rode through the mountains. The two women rode out front, Evelyn on her new mount, with Varric and Solas just behind. 

“What is it you’d like to know? The Seekers of Truth were born from the original Inquisition long ago, when it united with the Chantry. Seekers stood above the Templars - watching over them, but also investigating magical events they couldn’t handle. We were meant to be incorruptible, above reproach.” She snorted. “How seldom does reality match the ideal.”

“But what _are_ Seekers, exactly?” Evelyn had spent quite a bit of time in the Chantry. She was familiar with the Templars and the Circle, as well as the clerics, but the Seekers were something of a mystery, even to her.

“Those who know anything of us think we are Templars. We do not use lyrium, however. Our abilities are different, as was our original purpose. We disciplined the Templars and were accountable only to the Divine - and not even her, truthfully.”

“So no one ever watched over the Seekers?”

“It was the Divine’s duty,” Cassandra said. “But she could only do so much when the truth was hidden from her. The Templars have always feared us. When a Seeker arrived at a Circle, they knew trouble was afoot. That kind of power is troubling. You begin to think you are the only one who can solve the world’s problems. If you don’t see a problem, it doesn’t exist. If someone insists it does, they are the blind one.”

“Do you think that kind of problem could ever be fixed?”

“Possibly. Though the Seekers themselves would need to change. They were clearly not willing to, even though they abandoned everything they stood for to avoid it. In my heart, I believe they can still be salvaged - but not by their own hands.”

“A romantic idea.” Cassandra smiled sadly.

“Perhaps.”

“You mentioned that Seekers have different abilities than Templars?”

“Entirely. A Templar’s abilities come from lyrium and are designed to hunt mages. Ours come from ritual and many years of dedicated training. We cannot be possessed by demons and are immune to mind control - useful, considering our role. Seekers can gain other gifts, though that depends on the individual.”  
“What kind of gifts do you have?” Evelyn asked.

“I can set the lyrium within a person’s blood aflame. Both mages _and_ Templars bend before my will. Some Seekers use it to interrogate. Others, simply to paralyze. Once there was a Seeker who could use it to kill, but that particular gift is considered rare.”

“Useful in your line of work, I imagine.” Cassandra laughed.

“It is indeed.”

“How does someone become a Seeker?”

“Most Seekers begin training in their youth. I was much older - an exception due to my noble birth. We train rigorously for years. Our bodies and minds must be elastic to undergo the vigil, and most fail even then.”

“Is the vigil some kind of initiation?”

“It is the rite every Seeker must go through in order to summon their gifts. A full year of fasting, prayer, and separation from all distractions - including other people. We empty ourselves of all emotion, focusing only on the purity of our devotion. And the moment it finally ends…” Cassandra smiled, recalling the memory. “It’s _wonderful._ Faith realized. I cannot put it into words.”

“It sounds like an incredible experience,” Evelyn said sincerely. 

“It was,” Cassandra agreed. “If the vigil was not so arduous, I’d say more should attempt it. What if mages never needed to fear possession by demons? I’m told it’s impossible, however.” She sighed sadly. “I suppose I’ll never know the truth of it now. Not with the Order turned against the Chantry.” Evelyn nudged her horse with her heel, urging the mare over a fallen branch. 

“Why did they leave?” 

“We originally united with the Chantry through a treaty that stated they would keep the mages under control. It was felt Most Holy had tacitly allowed the Circle of Magi to vote on its independence, thus breaking the treaty. The Seekers saw themselves as justified, and they led the Templars into a war of righteousness.”

“You sound like you disagree,” Evelyn observed. Cassandra sighed.

“We _knew_ what was happening in Kirkwall, where the mage rebellion began. We looked into reports of Knight-Commander Meredith’s harsh treatment of her charges years earlier. But we found so many shocking cases of magical corruption, it was decided her actions were justified. If we’d _been_ there when it happened, if we’d looked harder at the root causes…”

“You’re right,” Evelyn agreed. “Something should have been done.” Cassandra shook her head regretfully.

“When faced with a problem, the Seekers would close ranks and crush it. We would find an answer, but only once we felt we weren’t being coerced. The moment the mages voted for independence, our response was predictable. It was… difficult to watch. Unfortunately, the Seekers are still missing, and some of their more dangerous targets yet roam free.”

“I could help you look for them,” Evelyn offered. “The Seekers must be hiding somewhere.” Cassandra smiled.

“I would appreciate that, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn dismounted as they reached the Temple. The party secured their horses, the three Ferelden Forders and one Free Marches Ranger pawing at the snow as they made their way through the ruins. 

It was eerie, being back. Though the bodies and belongings of the dead had long since been retrieved, walking through the wreckage still unsettled Evelyn. She had felt similarly when they returned to seal the breach, but now with only the four of them, the quiet stillness somehow made it worse. 

“I’ll put up the wards,” Solas said. “You three set up the tent. Make a fire if you wish, it’s cold in the mountains.” He wandered the perimeter, casting barriers around them as they set to work. 

“Just so no one can say I didn’t say anything, I don’t like this. Heading back to a disaster zone hoping to sift through the fade seems like a good way to find demons. Maybe not the best idea.”

“If you’ve got a better one, Varric, I’d love to hear it,” Evelyn said. To his credit, the dwarf smiled and shrugged.

“Can’t say I do, Your Inquisitorialness. Just know Bianca and I are ready.” Evelyn grinned.

“Give her my thanks, then.”

“You hear that, Bianca? Even the Inquisitor loves you.”

_“Ugh!”_

“But maybe not the Seeker.”

“Can I trust you two to play nicely while Solas and I do this?”

“Of course, Your Inquisitorialness. I think Cassandra is finally starting to warm up to me.”

“As long as you don’t tell me another one of your drunken tales from the Hanged Man,” Cassandra grumbled.

“I suppose that will have to do.” Evelyn said, glancing between them warily. “Try not to kill each other.”

She followed Solas into the tent. A bedroll had been placed on either side. Evelyn removed the bulkier parts of her armor and laid down, trying to enjoy the comfort of the thick furs. 

“I’ll guide you to sleep first, then follow suit. We should be able to search the Fade together. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Evelyn said nervously. As much as she wanted to remember, she was unsure what they might find. 

“Very well. _Sweet dreams, Inquisitor.”_ Her body calmed as the magic settled over her, her eyelids growing heavy as she drifted into the Fade.

_A small party wandered the Temple, a young woman at the lead. She could be no more than twenty, and a large dog trailed at her heels as her other companions followed behind. She climbed the stairs, stopping before a statue and the ashes of the Maker’s Bride._

_“I never dreamed I would ever lay my eyes on the Urn of Sacred Ashes. I… I have no words to express.” A woman spoke from behind the other, her voice sweet, familiar. Leliana?_

_“I didn’t think anyone could succeed in finding Andraste’s final resting place. But here… here she is.” A man’s voice, this time. Then another woman, older._

_“I could not have asked for a greater honor than to be here. I will never forget this feeling.”_

_The woman in the front stepped forward, carefully removing some of the ashes from the urn._

_Then the vision changed._

_Evelyn stood in a formal jacket, speaking with one of the dignitaries from Starkhaven. His accent was unmistakable as they discussed their families and the Conclave's proceedings. The Temple was filled with mages and Templars alike, as well as clerics, nobles, and even Grey Wardens, their deep blue armor easily recognizable in the crowded temple._

_“Help! The Divine, she’s been taken! He-”_

_The guard’s wailing was silenced as a Warden ran her through with a sword. Screaming erupted through the halls, but there was nowhere to run. It was impossible to tell who had started the assault. Templars, mages, and Wardens both attacked and protected, and some had blocked the exits. The only way out of the slaughter was deeper into the Temple._

_“This way!” Evelyn said, dragging the man she had been speaking with after her. She cursed the Chantry for not allowing her a weapon. Clearly that rule had not applied to their assailants._

_Haven guards clashed with the attackers, and Evelyn and her companion dodged assaults as they ran in deeper. She had heard of an exit - a courtyard, of sorts - that was located on the other side. If they could reach it-_

_She ducked as a warhammer smashed into the stone above her head, and Evelyn rolled out of the way as the column came crashing down where she had stood. Her companion was not as lucky. The stone had crushed both him and the assailant. Blood pooled around her boots, and though she felt herself cry out, she heard nothing._

_Evelyn ran further into the temple and ducked into a tunnel as more of the hostile bounded past. Not too far in, she noticed a dead guard, crumpled and lifeless on the ground. Evelyn prayed silent apologies as she took the armor off the woman, trading her formalwear for the thick Ferelden armor and grabbing the sword from the ground before running deeper still._

_“Keep the sacrifice still.” The voice was deep and menacing._

Corypheus.

_“Someone, help me!”_

_The scene blurred, turning black just as Evelyn reached for the handle of a door._

_“What’s going on here?”_

_“Run while you can! Warn them!_

_“We have an intruder. Kill her, now!”_

Evelyn gasped in pain as the anchor shocked her, it’s green lightning shooting through her nerves and crippling her on the ground. Solas bolted upright. He took her hand within his own and hovered the other above, calming the flaring mark with his magic as Varric and Cassandra burst through the flaps of the tent. Evelyn ran her other hand through her hair, breathing heavily as she glanced about. 

“I’m sorry, Evelyn,” Solas said sadly. 

“You felt it too?” She didn’t need an answer. His expression told her all she needed to know. 

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Cassandra asked, concerned.

“Something is blocking it out. Something doesn’t want me to remember.”

“Or someone,” Solas said. 

“Either way, I don’t know what happened to me. _Or_ the Divine. I don’t even remember entering the Fade, much less getting out of it. I’m sorry, Cassandra.” Angry tears welled in her eyes as she glared at the ground.

“Do you want to-”

“ _No_ ,” Evelyn insisted. It didn’t matter what the offer was going to be. She had had enough. “Let’s just go. I don’t want to be here any longer.” 

The party remained silent as she wordlessly exited the tent, thankfully granting her the small mercy of pretending not to notice her sniffling as she wiped away the tears. 

  
  



	13. Figures from the Past: Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: trauma, addiction. I've added a note at the end to vaguely summarize this chapter if you wish to avoid triggering content.
> 
> Also, sorry this took so long! I've just started a new job and it's taken a lot out of me! I'm hoping to get back into a routine soon! Thank you for your patience!

The return to Skyhold had been mostly silent. Evelyn felt badly for it - she knew she was to blame for the low morale, but not finding her memories had hit her hard. It had been foolish to get her hopes up, and now she dealt with the consequences. 

Varric had managed to cheer her up a bit with his tales of his adventures in Kirkwall, even throwing in a rather detailed description of Cullen’s unruly curls from his Templar days. Somehow he even got a laugh out of her and, much to everyone’s surprise, Cassandra didn’t scoff once at his extravagant stories. 

She felt a bit lighter by the time she led her team through Skyhold’s gates, and generally felt ready to return to work. 

As she cared for her horse, Evelyn noted with some disappointment that Cullen had not come to greet her. It was probably for the best, anyway - she would prefer to bathe before he saw her, so she made her way to her quarters. A serving girl drew her a bath as she sifted through reports. When it was ready, she allowed herself the luxury of soaking in the soapy, lavender scented water. 

Once finished, Evelyn combed out her hair and dressed in her favorite leathers. She swiped on her usual red lip, then climbed down the stairs to visit Cullen. She didn’t make it far.

“Your Worship, I need but a moment of your time.” Evelyn paused in her tracks, then turned, careful not to allow her annoyance at the disruption to her plans show.

“I… suppose I have a moment. What can I do for you, Mother Giselle?” 

“My Lady Inquisitor, it’s good of you to speak with me. I have news regarding one of your… companions. The Tevinter.” 

“Is that a note of distaste I detect, Mother Giselle?” Evelyn’s lip curled in a combination of irritation and amusement. The cleric glanced at the ground.

“I… admit his presence here makes me uncomfortable, Inquisitor, but my feelings are of no importance. I have been in contact with his family - House Pavus, out of Qarinus. Are you familiar with them?” 

“Familiar enough to know they are not on good terms,” Evelyn said. She raised a brow, suspicious of where this was going. Mother Giselle wrung her hands together, shifting awkwardly.

“Yes, I believe you’re correct. The family sent a letter describing the estrangement from their son and pleading for my aid. They’ve asked to arrange a meeting - quietly, without telling him. They fear it’s the only way he’ll come. Since you seem to be on good terms with the young man, I’d hoped-”

“I’m not lying to Dorian.” Evelyn was taken aback by the request - it was horrible to even suggest it. Mother Giselle sighed in exasperation. 

“I feared you might say that. The family will send a retainer to meet the young man at the Redcliffe Tavern to take him onward. If he truly does not wish the reunion, he can always end the matter there. I pray you change your mind, Inquisitor. Perhaps their letter will persuade you. If there is any chance of success in this, it behooves us to act.” Evelyn pinched the offending letter between her thumb and fingers, holding it primly in front of her. She had no intention of reading it. Frankly, it wasn’t her business. If Dorian wished to share its contents, that was for him to decide. She wouldn’t invade his privacy in such a way.

“And just what kind of ‘meeting’ do they have in mind?”

“I believe they just want to talk, to understand why Dorian felt he had to come here. Somewhere private, away from Skyhold, but not in Tevinter. You make them nervous, I think. They don’t understand why he’s with the Inquisition. They want him to come home.” Her eyes pleaded with Evelyn, but she was met only with a sharp Trevelyan gaze. 

“And if Dorian doesn’t agree?”

“Hopefully that would be the end of it. If not… well… that’s why you should be there.”

“Are you implying this could be a trap, Mother Giselle? It’s certainly cloaked in enough secrecy.”

“It _did_ occur to me. What if this is a plot of those mages, the Venatori? Another reason to put this in your hands, Inquisitor. I pray that isn’t the case, but if it is, you are far better equipped than I to respond to such treachery.”

“Venatori might be the more tolerable outcome. I won’t trick Dorian into meeting his family. Something isn’t right about this. Why do they want to lie to him?”

“They believe the young man would refuse. The letter implies he’d have cause. They are remorseful for whatever came before - this is a chance for dialogue. There is... _deceit_ in bringing the young man to this meeting without his full knowledge, I know. But does it not lead to a greater kindness if there is potential for reconciliation?” 

“This is Dorian’s life, Mother Giselle. The choice is his to make.” Though Evelyn wore a charming smile, her obstinate tone left no room for further argument. She turned on her heel for the battlements, leaving the cleric in her wake. 

Much to her surprise, Evelyn was greeted by a soldier when she reached Cullen’s office. 

“Inquisitor!” she said with a salute. “If you’re looking for the Commander, he’s gone to speak with Seeker Pentagast.”

“Thank you. As you were.” Evelyn nodded to the soldier, then climbed down the stairs to the courtyard. She kept a brisk stride, hoping to deter anyone from talking to her, though not walking fast enough to raise alarm. 

Something wasn’t right. She should have realized that when Cullen hadn’t greeted her upon her arrival. Even if he had intended to give her a moment to get settled, he would normally be eager and waiting for her when she was finished. She felt a twist in her gut as she remembered how pale he had been when she left for the temple, and cursed herself for going. 

“You asked for my opinion and I’ve given it. Why would you expect it to change?” Cassandra’s slight Nevarran accent rang clear through the door as Evelyn approached the armory.

“I expect you to keep your word!” Cullen’s voice now - gruff and tired. “It’s relentless. I can’t-”

“You give yourself too little credit!”

“If I am unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this! Would you rather save face than admit-”

He stopped when Evelyn finally reached the door and burst into the armory. She froze in the doorway, just barely concealing her shock. 

Cullen looked terrible. His pallor was colorless and the sweat still gleamed upon his forehead. Evelyn had seen _that_ before, but now his eyes were dark and sunken, and he squinted at the light from the doorway. Perhaps the most worrying was his demeanor - he avoided her eyes, head hung and shoulders drooped. He mumbled an apology as he brushed past her on his way out the door. 

“And people say _I’m_ stubborn. This is ridiculous,” Cassandra said, folding her arms in front of her. “Cullen told you that he’s no longer taking lyrium?” Evelyn pulled her eyes from the doorway to face Cassandra.

“Yes. And I respect his decision.” 

“As do I. Not that he’s willing to listen. Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him.” Evelyn’s jaw dropped, unable to catch herself before concern settled on her face. Cassandra held up a hand, stopping her before she could respond. “I refused. It’s not necessary. Besides, it would destroy him. He’s come so far.”

“He didn’t tell me,” Evelyn said. The sound of her voice was uncharacteristically meek, foreign even to her. Did Cullen not trust her? The thought stung.

“We had an agreement long before you joined us,” Cassandra said. She lowered her arms, her gaze softening at Evelyn’s downtrodden appearance. “As a Seeker, I could evaluate the dangers. And he wouldn’t want to…” She paused, carefully considering her next words. “... _risk_ your disappointment.”

“My _disappointment?_ ” Evelyn was shocked. How could he think such a thing? Surely she hadn’t given him such an impression? 

“Do not blame yourself. For one so smart, Cullen can be a foolish man. He’s too hard on himself.”

“Is there anything we can do to change his mind?” Evelyn asked. Cassandra shrugged.

“If anyone could, it’s you.” She stepped into the doorway, looking up toward Cullen’s tower on the battlements. “Mages have made their suffering known. But Templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself - and anyone who would follow suit - that it’s possible. He _can_ do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. Talk to him. Decide if now is the time.”

“I will. Thank you, Cassandra. I’m glad he has you as a friend.” The Seeker smiled.

“And I’m glad he’s found you. Now go, before he appoints a new Commander.”

Evelyn rushed to the battlements, unsure of what she would do once she arrived in Cullen’s office. Whatever she had expected when she opened the door, it hadn’t been the sound of Cullen’s guttural cry as an object flew just past her head. She jumped back as it shattered into the wall beside her. Metal clanged, then scraped across the floor as it slid, and a wooden box hit the ground with a heavy thud. 

“Maker’s breath! I didn’t hear you enter! I…” Cullen scrunched up his face and shook his head, then stared, broken and defeated, at the floor. “Forgive me.” Evelyn carefully stepped around the broken glass from his lyrium kit. 

“Cullen, if you need to talk…”

“You don’t have to-” He stumbled as he stepped toward her, just barely catching himself on his desk. His eyes darted, out of focus, as he struggled to keep his balance. Evelyn rushed to help, but he waved her off, groaning from the effort it took to remain standing. “I never meant for this to interfere,” he forced through clenched teeth.

“Are you going to be alright?” Evelyn asked softly. 

“Yes, I…” He sighed. “I don’t know.” Cullen pushed himself to stand, swaying slightly. His breaths were loud pants and he held out an arm, gesturing wildly. He rubbed at his temples with the other hand as he turned to stare out a narrow window. “You asked what happened to Ferelden’s Circle. It was taken over by abominations. The Templars, _my friends_ , were slaughtered. I was tortured. They tried to break my mind and I-” He laughed madly. The sound was as chilling as the admission itself. “How can you be the same person after that? Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I _trusted_ my Knight-Commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall’s circle _fell_ , innocent people _died in the streets_. Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?” He had finally turned to face her, his eyes pleading for understanding as Evelyn felt her heart shatter like the glass on the floor. 

“Of _course_ I can, I-” 

_“Don’t,”_ he snarled. Evelyn was taken aback by the sudden harshness. The hurt must have flashed in her eyes, because Cullen softened, immediately apologetic.

“You should be questioning what I’ve done.” He paced frantically, gestures growing bigger, _angrier_ , as his tensions rose again. “I thought this would be better, that I would... _regain_ some control over my life, but these _thoughts_ won’t leave me! How many lives depend on our success? I _swore_ myself to this cause! I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did to the Chantry! _I should be taking it.”_ His voice was pinched, somewhere between a whisper and a hiss as he punched a bookcase, it’s contents toppling to the floor. “I should be taking it.” Evelyn didn’t move. 

“This doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition,” She consoled, kind but firm, to his back. “Is this what _you_ want?” He turned to face her, his body almost relaxing as he released a heavy sigh.

“No,” he admitted. “But… these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse - if I cannot _endure_ this…”

“You _can.”_ Evelyn ran a gentle hand through his hair, scratching tenderly at the nape of his neck. She was relieved when the fear in his expression relaxed, a glimmer of hope present behind the pain in his eyes.

“Alright,” he sighed. 

“Is there anything I can do?” She started toward the mess on the floor, but Cullen stopped her.

“Evelyn.” She stopped, looking up at him. “Don’t clean up after me. I’ll take care of it. If it’s alright with you, I… I think I’d like to be alone for a few hours. Until the headache passes.”

“Of course,” Evelyn said as she stood from her crouch. “Find me when you’re feeling better, or send for me if you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you.” 

Evelyn offered an encouraging smile as she quietly shut the door. She heard the latch click as Cullen locked it after her. It seemed he would be taking a break to rest after all. 

Evelyn sighed, leaning back heavily against the door. She had held herself together for Cullen’s sake, but the truth was she was worried. She had never seen him like this, and while the illness troubled her, it was his erratic behavior that scared her the most. And after what he just revealed about Kirkwall, about _Kinloch…_

Fury filled her. They had tortured him. _Abominations_ had tortured him. Exactly _what_ had been done to him, she didn’t know, but this explained his initial mistrust of the mages back in Haven. The more Evelyn thought about it, the tighter her jaw clenched, knuckles whitening into balled fists. Cullen had only just earned his knighthood when the Circle fell. He wasn’t even twenty years old. It would be a terrible thing for anyone to go through, but Cullen had been so _young_.

She wished more than anything that she could stick a dagger in the problem and make it go away, that she could watch the demons that haunted him die at the end of her blade. Sadly, that wasn’t possible. She felt helpless. She would just have to be there for him and pray that he could do this on his own. Evelyn paced a few steps from the door and rested her hands on her lower back, accidentally crumpling the corner of the letter in her back pocket. 

“Dammit!” she cursed, recalling her discussion with Mother Giselle. She pulled the folded letter from behind her and glared at it, as though her frigid gaze could scare it off. To her displeasure, it refused to yield. 

Dorian had not told Evelyn the details of his estrangement. They were close, but the subject was one that clearly pained him. She had no intention of prying. Unfortunately, it seemed she was now involved and Dorian’s privacy compromised, despite her intentions. Evelyn was certain the contents of this letter would open old wounds. It was sure to hurt him - yet another thing a dagger couldn’t fix.

She trudged through the fortress and up to the library. Dorian was tucked in his usual nook, nose buried deep in a large volume of arcane research. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he greeted, setting down the book as he stood. Evelyn shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to deliver the news. 

“Dorian,” she started tentatively. “There’s a letter you need to see.”

“A letter?” Dorian’s expression held it’s usual hint of mischief, but Evelyn knew better than to think he didn’t sense her unease. “Is it a _naughty_ letter? A humorous proposal from some Antivan Dowager?”

“Not quite.” She kept her tone low and gentle as she extended it toward him. “It’s from your father.”

“From my father,” Dorian repeated, his usual playfulness disappearing immediately. Though his smile remained, it was tight and insincere. His voice held a well-practiced neutrality, but Evelyn noticed a flash of pain in his eyes before he quickly concealed it again. “I see. And what does Magister Halward want, pray tell?” 

“A meeting.” He stared at the document between her fingers, then swallowed hard. “Would you like to go somewhere more… private?” Evelyn asked, voice barely above a whisper. Dorian’s nearly imperceptible nod was all the confirmation she needed as she led him from the library and up to her quarters. 

“Show me this letter,” he said once they were alone. She handed it over and sat on the edge of the sofa, trying to afford him as much privacy as possible. 

_“‘I know my son,’”_ Dorian quoted, his irritation evident. He had stood, stiff as stone, while reading, but now he paced her room, shaking the letter for emphasis as he spoke. “What my father knows of me could barely fill a thimble! This is so _typical.”_ He turned to Evelyn, who remained seated, listening as he worked through his thoughts. “I’m willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.”

“I would never allow that to happen,” Evelyn said. “It would be very hard to do while I stood there.”

“He expects me to travel with Mother Giselle, though Maker knows why he’d think I would.” He grit his teeth, a mixture of anger and determination overtaking him. “Let’s go. Let’s meet this so-called ‘family retainer.’ If it’s a trap, we escape and kill everyone. _You’re_ good at that. If not, I send the man back to my father with the message that he can stick his alarm in his ‘wit’s end.’”

“Dorian,” Evelyn sighed, carefully choosing her words. “I think you should meet with this retainer, if for nothing else than to find out what your family wants.”

“I didn’t ask what _you_ thought, did I?” His tone was harsh, and Evelyn immediately regretted saying anything. It was _his_ family, after all. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, don’t,” he said, stopping her. “That was unworthy. I apologize. There’d be no harm in hearing what this man of my father’s has to say. If I don’t like it, however, I want to leave.”

“That sounds entirely reasonable to me.” Dorian gave a hollow laugh.

“I wonder how much my father paid this man to wait around just in case I showed.” He sighed. “We’ll find out soon enough.” Evelyn stood and approached him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” He covered her hand with his own, smiling weakly. 

“I don’t know yet. Ask me after we speak with the retainer. Care for a game of Wicked Grace? I could do with a distraction.” 

Hours passed by as they played round after round, Dorian’s spirits rising as time went on. They laughed as they recounted tales of their youths, and Evelyn had popped open an expensive bottle of wine from which Dorian had refilled his crystal glass quite a few times. Evelyn sipped slowly at her own - she would need to keep her wits tonight. 

Now they spun about her room, laughing like children as they taught each other dances from their homelands, and Dorian dipped her dramatically as they practiced the steps of a popular Orlesian waltz. 

“How many times do you think you think we’ll have to do this dance at the Winter Palace?” Evelyn asked as they floated across the floor. 

“I expect you’ll be the most popular partner of the night. I don’t know how you expect to get anything done. Promise you’ll save me a dance? I’d hate to miss an opportunity to strike fear into the hearts of the Orlesian court.” Dorian was an excellent dancer. His intentions in every motion were clear as he led her with grace through the familiar steps.

“Are you suggesting you wish to use me?” Evelyn teased. She pressed her hands into his shoulders as he guided her through a small lift, then set her down again. 

“I am. But only because admitting I enjoy dancing with you would be much more embarrassing. It’s been a while since I’ve had a dance partner of any skill.”

“Oh? In that case, how could I say no?”

“You’d be a fool to. I’m far too charming.” Evelyn laughed.

“You’ll have to do better with the Orlesian style. You’ve forgotten the part where you stick your nose in the air and blackmail your enemies into generations of disgrace and financial ruin.”

“Ah, how I’ve missed the Great Game! I’m sure Josephine and Leliana are looking forward to it. How do you think Cullen will do?”

_Cullen._

Dorian stumbled as Evelyn came to an abrupt halt, but recovered with ease. It was dark now. Stars were shining in the night sky outside her windows as a cool breeze blew in from the balcony.

“He looked unwell earlier. Is he alright?” Dorian asked gently. Evelyn wasn’t sure how to answer. Cullen had neither found her nor sent for her. Dorian sensed her fear and pulled her tightly to him.

“He’s strong. He’ll be alright,” he soothed.

“What if he isn’t?” The fear that gripped her since Cullen had told her of his decision finally fell from her lips. 

“He will be. Go. You’ve entertained me enough for one evening.”

“Are you sure? If you still need me-”

“I’m better now. And I have much to think about. It’d be best to mull it over on my own. You’ve been a good friend. No need to worry about me, Maker knows you have enough to worry about.”

“Find me in the morning if you need anything,” Evelyn insisted. 

“I will, thank you. Now, off you go. Try not to kill anyone without me.”

They left her quarters and parted ways in the main hall. Evelyn cut through the rotunda to the battlements, where, in her haste, she nearly ran straight into Cole.

“ _Maker!_ I didn’t see you there!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing up here?”

“I wanted to help,” he said simply.

“Help who?”

“They call him the lion, but he’s caged. Suffocating, squeezing. Room getting smaller, breaths tighter. Veins on fire, stomach in knots. Leave me! I can’t-”

 _“Cole.”_ Evelyn’s voice broke as she stopped him, unable to bear anymore. 

“She believes in me.” Cole looked at her curiously. “You can help.”

“I will,” she promised, a lump in her throat. “Goodnight, Cole.” 

He wandered off as she rushed for the office door. It was still locked from earlier, and when she knocked, she received no response. 

“I’m sorry, Cullen,” she murmured as she picked the lock. Breaking in felt wrong, but the feeling in her gut that something was wrong was stronger. She opened the door and crept inside.

Evelyn didn’t make it far before a crunch beneath her boots told her she had stepped on glass. She lit the candle on Cullen’s desk for light, then peered about the office. The mess from earlier remained, and Cullen’s armor and mantle laid haphazardly near the rack in the corner. Papers were strewn about his desk and some had fallen to the floor. She collected the little jar of oakmoss extract that sat on his desk, then started up the ladder.

Evelyn had never been up to Cullen’s loft. It felt invasive, entering his room in such a way, and her nerves grew as she climbed. She set the candle on the floor above her as she reached the final wrung, then retrieved it again as she stood upright.

The room was chilly in the crisp night air, and Evelyn once again noted the hole in the roof. Wooden planks were piled in the corner where they had fallen. In the flickering candlelight, she could make out Cullen’s form in his bed. He had thrown off his blankets, except for a thin sheet that was now tangled around his legs. 

“No! I’d… rather die!” 

He tossed and turned. Evelyn rushed to wake him from his nightmare, but was alarmed to find that he wasn’t asleep. Instead, he looked frightened when he looked at her, and his words were hostile.

“Leave, demon!” he gasped. He looked even paler than before, and his shirt was soaked through with sweat. His bloodshot eyes looked around frantically. “Not again. Not with _her_ … I can’t....”

“Cullen, it’s me. It’s alright, you’re _safe,”_ Evelyn soothed. She tried to reach him, but jumped back as he shouted.

“Get _back!_ You won’t… break me. I know this trick! You wear another face… but I _know_ it!”

_Leave, demon._

_I know this trick._

_You wear another face._

_Not again. Not with her._

_I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I… How can you be the same person after that?_

The realization struck her with the force of a warhammer, and Evelyn felt the breath leave her lungs as she gasped in shock. The abominations that had tortured him in Kinloch all those years ago - had they worn another girl’s face? Had they used an old love against him? Abused him with the face of someone he cared for?

“Oh, Cullen,” she murmured. “It’s just me, I-” 

Evelyn paused as a thought came to her, and for once she was thankful for her mother’s lessons.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter,” she recited, trying to keep her voice from wavering. “Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written.”

Cullen eased a bit as the words washed over him, his fear fading to suspicion, and then a flicker of hope. What demon would recite the Chant of Light?

“Is… is it really you?”

“Yes, Cullen. It’s me.” She eased herself onto the edge of his bed, then massaged his scalp through his sweaty curls. 

“Andraste… preserve me…” The words were barely audible as exhaustion took him, and he fell into a restless sleep. 

At first, Evelyn didn’t move. She feared waking him, as he clearly needed the rest, but she suspected he would be out for a while. She crept from the bed, as one would when trying not to disturb a sleeping child, then set to work. 

It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. A wash basin sat in the corner, and she filled it with cool water and dampened a cloth. There wasn’t much to be done about his sweaty clothes until he woke, but she did her best, wiping down his face and chest. Though he shivered, he radiated heat. She dipped the cloth again, wrung it out, and set it across his forehead. 

Evelyn sang softly as she tended to him, the old tune from Ostwick coming easily as she rubbed the oakmoss into his temples. She was unsure why she did it. It felt a bit silly, but it was something that her mother had done to soothe her as a child, and she noticed Cullen grow more peaceful at the sound. Once stable, she turned him on his side, then examined the rest of the room. 

He had vomited into a nearby bucket before she arrived, and she took it with the basin to be emptied. Then she set about cleaning his office. Evelyn swept up the broken glass and restacked his papers. She folded his mantle and hung his armor back on the rack, then placed the fallen books back on the shelf. Once everything was in order, she checked on Cullen again, setting a tall glass of water near his bedside. She sat with him for a while and, when she was certain he was alright, left a note at his side before silently leaving the tower.

***

_“Maker,”_ Cullen groaned. He awoke with the distinct feeling of having been trampled by a herd of druffalo. His whole body ached, muscles protesting as he rolled onto his back, and he squinted when sunlight assaulted his eyes through the open roof. 

It had been a while since he had a night this bad. He remembered the pain more than anything - his memories of last night were fuzzy at best. At some point he must have drifted to sleep, his usual nightmares interrupted with dreams of Evelyn that made the night somewhat more bearable. He reached for the glass of water next to him and downed it in seconds, his head pounding from the sounds of Skyhold’s soldiers training outside.

_Wait._

Cullen jumped from the bed, muscles screaming at his every motion, and peered out the window. It was well past morning. The fortress bustled with afternoon activity, and Cassandra could be seen leading the soldiers through their daily drills. He whipped around, holding out his arms for balance as the room spun from the sudden motion, and stared at the glass he had just been drinking from. Had that been there yesterday? 

What happened last night? He remembered locking the doors after Evelyn left, hoping to rest for a few hours and resume his work. The withdrawals had had other ideas. His veins were on fire and his body ached. The light was searing in his eyes. He had struggled to remove his armor knowing he hadn’t the strength to climb to his loft while wearing the heavy plate. 

From there, the images blurred. He couldn’t be certain what was real and what a dream. At some point he had felt the crushing prison of Kinloch, but instead of the mage girl the demon normally tormented him with, it was Evelyn. Red lipped and gentle, the vision appeared before him, and though he wished her real, he knew the tricks of Desire’s evil ways and refused to yield.

Something about the recollection was strange, though. It had felt so _real._ And there was something else… the Chant?

_Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter…_

The words had been there. Of that he was certain, and they chased the demon away. The prison faltered, but the pain persisted. At some point he must have fallen asleep. 

Cullen licked his dry, cracked lips. They stung as he sat on the edge of his bed. He felt filthy. His hair and body were drenched with sweat. It was a miracle that none of his soldiers had come looking for him yet. He likely wouldn’t have much more time to himself if he wished to bathe. Considering the high position of the sun in the sky and the bustle of the fortress, it was already well into the day. 

He glanced toward the bucket in the corner, considering whether or not he had the strength to fill a tub. It might take him a while, but-

The memory hit him all at once. That bucket hadn’t been there, in the corner. Last night it had sat at his bedside, where he was certain he had been sick into it at least twice. He pushed himself to stand and walked over, but the bucket had been cleaned and emptied. 

Cullen knew he hadn’t done it. He hadn’t even been able to rise from his bed. Who had been here last night?

He spun around again, once again becoming dizzy as he turned too fast and catching himself on the corner of his bed. The vision of Evelyn had been just that, hadn’t it? A hallucination? A dream? He had thought so, but as he inspected the glass at his bedside again, he noticed a folded note beside it, his name written in her neat scrawl. 

He stared at it, unsure what to do with this information. He had never wished for her to see him like that. He wasn’t even sure what she had seen, as he couldn’t remember most of it. Cullen supposed there was only one way to find out. He sighed as he ran a hand through his curls and picked up the note.

_Cullen,_

_I hope you’re feeling better. I’m sorry for intruding last night. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, so I stopped in to check on you. You were very ill. I stayed just long enough to see you peacefully asleep, and I have instructed the soldiers that any reports for you are to be forwarded to myself and Cassandra for the day. I’m sure you’ll insist you’re fine, but I would like you to rest. I have no doubt you’ll be back to business tomorrow._

_Your oakmoss extract is near your bed, if you’re looking for it. I also straightened up a bit. Do not hesitate to send for me if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll check on you later._

_Yours,_

_Evelyn_

Yours. 

He tried not to focus too much on how the word made his heart flutter. Instead, he thought about the implications of the note. 

Evelyn _had_ been here. How much of what he remembered was real and how much was a dream, he wasn’t sure, but clearly she had seen him at his worst. While part of him was embarrassed, another part was overwhelmed by her thoughtfulness. Though she had felt the need to apologize, he wasn’t at all upset with her. He’d have likely done the same. Cullen only wished she hadn’t had to see him in such a state. 

Cullen took the empty bucket and heaved himself down the ladder. Though he shouldn’t have been, he was surprised to find his office had been tidied as well. The broken glass that he hadn’t gotten around the cleaning was gone, and his desk and armor were neatly arranged. 

Though his muscles disagreed with every motion, Cullen managed to fill a bath. For once, he took his time, more out of an inability to move any faster than a taste for luxury. He soaked until the hot, soothing water turned cold, then dressed in warm leathers. His armor would be too heavy today. 

Unaccustomed to not having work to do, Cullen decided to wander the battlements. The fresh air would do him some good, and perhaps he could inspect them for places that needed repairs. 

After a while he paused in his walk to gaze out over the mountains. The view was beautiful. Rarely did he stop to notice it. Cullen closed his eyes and breathed deeply, allowing crisp, revitalizing air into his lungs. 

“I’m glad to see you up and about,” a voice said from behind him. He shuffled awkwardly when he saw her. Evelyn was wrapped tightly in a warm scarf. She looked relieved to see him, but Cullen was unsure what to say. He had thought about it as he walked, but now that she stood before him, the words vanished.

“I… wanted to thank you. When you came to see me… If there’s anything…” he sighed and rubbed at the nape of his neck. “This sounded much better in my head.”

“I trust you’re feeling better?”

“I… yes.” 

“Is it always that bad?” The question hung in the air between them. He didn’t wish to worry her, but it was too late for that. It was already evident on her face, and her eyes stripped him bare. 

“The pain comes and goes,” he admitted, averting his eyes. “Sometimes... I feel as if I’m back there. I should not have pushed myself so far yesterday.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright.” A light hand on his arm pulled his gaze back to her, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sweetness in her voice and touch. She was a gift from the Maker himself. 

“I am. I never told anyone what truly happened to me in Ferelden’s Circle. I was… not _myself,_ after that. I was angry. For years that anger blinded me. I’m not proud of the man that made me. Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It’s a start.” 

“For what it’s worth, I like who you are now.” She stepped a bit closer, but Cullen stared at the ground for a moment before tentatively meeting her eyes.

“Even after…?” Guilt wracked him as he remembered how erratic he had been yesterday afternoon. He had been agitated, irrational. He had nearly _hit_ her with his lyrium kit, and though he hadn’t known she was about to open the door, he’d have never forgiven himself if he’d struck her.

“Cullen, I _care_ about you. You’ve done nothing to change that.” 

A weight lifted that he hadn’t even known he carried. Cullen beamed brightly.

_I love you._

The words stumbled into his mouth but didn’t make it past his lips. They had caught him by surprise, grabbed him by the heart and demanded their release, the realization hitting him all at once as he took her hands within his. They nearly escaped again as he brushed her hair behind her ear. 

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

They rang out inside him, but Cullen shoved them down. Though part of him wished to speak the words aloud, to make them real, the fear that came with the realization crippled him. It was too soon to say such a thing, too intimate. There was power in those words, power she already held over him that he would happily give her time and time again. But now was not the time.

“What about you?” he said instead. It was as close to the admission as he could manage. “You have troubles of your own. How are you holding up?” She turned from him, leaning onto her elbows on the stone wall of the battlements as she looked out toward the mountains.

“Honestly? I’m terrified. So many people depend on us. On _me._ Corypheus is still out there.” Cullen leaned next to her on one arm, shoulders turned to face her. 

“We’ve made great strides. Do not doubt yourself or the Inquisition just yet. If there’s anything I can do, you have only to ask.” 

“Thank you. I needed to hear that today. There is _one_ thing you can do.”

“Anything,” Cullen said immediately.

Minutes later, Cullen found himself sitting before a chess board in Evelyn’s quarters, two steaming cups of tea before them as he tried to discover just how she intended to trick him this time. He wasn’t sure Evelyn had ever played a fair game in her life, but that was part of the fun of playing against her. 

“The day you kissed me on the battlements…” she began, that mischievous glint in her eyes. “How long had you wanted to do that?” Cullen chuckled, recalling the many close calls he had had back in Haven.

“Longer than I should admit.”

“Is that all you’ll give me?” 

“My lips are sealed,” he smirked as she blatantly cheated. He decided to let it go for now. 

“What if I told you that you caught my eye immediately, would that loosen them?” 

“Is that so?” He could scarcely believe that, but despite her teasing tone, she seemed genuine in the admission. 

“You make quite an impression, Commander.” She took one of his pawns, and he took one of hers in return, a move that wouldn’t have opened for him had she not tried to cheat.

“I guarantee any impression I make is nothing compared to yours.”

“And what impression is that?” Cullen smiled, dropping the teasing tone for one more earnest.

“Honestly, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. But we had only just met. I didn’t expect you to return my feelings. Nor was I expecting the prisoner Cassandra had mentioned to be the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.” She smiled, intertwining her legs with his beneath the table.

“You don’t have much patience for nobility. I’m glad my title didn’t scare you off.” Cullen paused as she took another of his pawns with her queen, nerves rising in his stomach.

“I hadn’t considered… I have no title outside the Inquisition. I hope that doesn’t - I mean… _does_ it… bother you?” How foolish had he been, not to think of such a thing? Just as he was starting to panic, her hand on his knee beneath the table brought his focus back to her.

“No!” she insisted. “If you care for me, that’s all that matters. I wasn’t trying to put you on the spot.” Cullen grinned sheepishly.

“I’m not very good at this, am I?” He tangled his fingers into hers, rubbing her hand absentmindedly with his thumb. “If I seem unsure, it’s because it’s been a long time since I’ve wanted _anyone_ in my life. I wasn’t expecting to find that here. Or _you.”_

“I’m glad you’ve let me in,” she said. Cullen smiled.

“As am I.” He leaned across the table, caring for nothing other than the feeling of pressing his lips softly to hers as they knocked the pieces from the table. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn returns from the Temple and runs into Mother Giselle, who asks her to fool Dorian into meeting the family retainer. Cullen asks Cassandra to find a replacement for him and struggles with lyrium withdrawal symptoms. Evelyn tells Dorian of his family's request, and after offering moral support to her friend, searches for Cullen, who is very ill. She cares for him, and the next day Cullen realizes his feelings run deeper for her than he knew.


	14. Figures from the Past: Part III

“I heard a little rumor about you,” Dorian said as Evelyn, still in her riding clothes, slid herself into a chair next to Cullen. A serving girl poured steaming tea into a porcelain cup while Evelyn spread jam on a hot scone. 

“Is that so?” she replied. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I heard three just on my way from the stables. Watch your tongue around that Orlesian couple, they’re absolute scavengers.”

“Indeed. Someone’s been doing some training. As an _assassin,_ no less.”

It was true. Evelyn had spent much of the previous day with her new instructor, Hier. They had paid the assassin no small sum to train the Inquisitor, but even after a single day, Evelyn felt she had learned quite a bit.

“The skills involved are rather handy,” she shrugged, biting into her scone. Dorian let out a hearty laugh.

“I should say! With the amount of killing you do, a bit of flair’s a fine thing.”

“It isn’t about _flair._ And I don’t kill _that_ many people.” Cullen muffled a suspicious cough.

“Are you joking?” Dorian said, leaning over his plate. “I’m only surprised you didn’t kill someone walking over here.”

“You jest, but I hear she has quite the gift for shadows and blades,” Leliana said. She sat further down the table with Josephine, who was still muttering to Vivienne about the terrible gossip being spread by their Orlesian guests. 

“When you put it that way, it makes it sound much more elegant.” Evelyn dropped a few sugar cubes into her tea, then added a splash of cream. 

“It does, doesn’t it? Mysterious. Even _romantic.”_ She made a pointed glance at Cullen, who, for his part, maintained some semblance of composure, though not enough to hide his brightening cheeks. “Pretending it’s something else sometimes makes it easier. As your spymaster, may I say that I am pleased? My agents appreciate that they can look at their Herald and see themselves. Have I ever told you about my friend Zevran?”

“The Antivan Crow?” Cullen asked. Leliana nodded.

“He wasn’t always good at it. We only met because he failed to kill a mark. But he made me laugh.” 

“You said he travelled with you during the Blight?” Evelyn felt Cullen’s hand find its way to her knee beneath the table as she sipped at her tea.

“He did. We still keep in touch, though I haven’t seen him in a while. I was hoping he had heard from Evangeline, but he knows nothing more than I do.” Leliana sighed.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“At any rate, if you’re ever looking for a new profession, do tell me,” Dorian said, stabbing at a sausage. “The Antivan Crows have nothing on the Imperium. I know people. Keep it in mind.” Evelyn felt more than saw Cullen’s unease at the suggestion.

“As… _kind_ as that offer is, I think my current position offers more than enough death for one lifetime.”

“True enough. And what do you think of it, Cullen? Knowing she’s the most lethal thing in this fortress?” Cullen swallowed, then wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Well, that’s hardly news. She’s the most lethal thing no matter where she is.” Evelyn snorted as he squeezed her knee playfully. “I’ll admit it was a bit… _surprising_ , at first, but I think any skills that keep her alive are worth having.”

“Not afraid she’ll poison your drink or stab you in your sleep?”

“I can’t say it’s a concern of mine. If I angered her that much, she’d be more likely to chastise me to death. And I’d probably have deserved it.” Evelyn opened her mouth to respond, but Cassandra’s approach interrupted her retort.

“Are you nearly ready to leave?”

“Nearly. We’re all packed - well, _Dorian and I_ are all packed. I would check on Sera - one can never be sure, with her. And we should make sure she hasn’t snuck any of those bee-filled jars into places they can break again.”

“Again?” Cullen asked. Evelyn smirked.

“I have to admit, watching Varric run from them _was_ hilarious. Until Solas froze them all and we had to endure hours of complaints about how he never should have left Kirkwall, that is. Best not to repeat it.” 

“Agreed,” Cassandra grinned. We’ll depart in an hour?”

“Yes. We’ll meet by the stables.”

They finished their breakfast and broke off to their respective duties. Evelyn led Cullen up the stairs to her quarters, then triple checked her pack for necessary supplies. The official reason for their venture back to the Hinterlands was to eliminate the high profile targets the Seekers had left behind, and to pay a visit to Redcliffe to make sure the town was recovering from it’s Venatori occupation. While they were there, Evelyn and Dorian would meet with the Pavus family retainer, unbeknownst to the others.

Cullen weaved his arms around her as she stood from her pack, and Evelyn squeezed back tightly, breathing in his scent with her head buried in his chest.

“Leaving you keeps getting harder,” she admitted. 

“I know.” She felt his lips press lightly to the top of her head, neither of them willing to pull away any time soon. “At least it’s only for a fortnight this time.” 

The words were comforting but hollow. That was the plan, but they both knew it wasn’t guaranteed. It could take longer for any number of reasons, and while they planned to be gone for only two weeks, it was impossible to say for certain.

“Will you be alright?”

“I haven’t had a bad day since… well, you know. I’m feeling much better. I’ll be alright.”

Evelyn hadn’t dared mention his hallucination. It felt like an intrusion, like knowledge she shouldn’t know. If Cullen wished to speak to her about it, he would tell her in his own time. That didn’t mean it worried her any less, however.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he said, taking her face in his hands. His eyes bore into her, and she felt premature guilt for whatever would happen in the field. While she could be cautious, there was no way to predict what might happen any time she left Skyhold’s walls. 

“I’ll be careful.” She would certainly try.

“Good. I’d prefer not to receive another report of broken ankles and duels with Avvar.”

“I’d prefer not to write another. You’ll keep Dagna from taking samples of unsuspecting mages while I’m gone?” Cullen chuckled, but the sound was less than earnest.

“So you’ve met the arcanist?”

“Yesterday. Have you?”

“I did. I believe she’s settling in well. She’s certainly very… _cheerful.”_

“Is that a bad thing?”  
  
“I’m concerned she’ll _cheerfully_ blow up Skyhold with one of her experiments, but the risk is small at present.” He stroked her hair, drinking in the sight of her before she could disappear again. “How are you feeling?”

Evelyn sighed. It was a question she didn’t even know where to begin answering. She was breathing and unharmed, surely that counted for something?

“Solas checked on the anchor yesterday and made sure it was stable. I’m doing the best I can. It hasn’t been easy, but I’m trying. I question every decision. I still can’t remember the Conclave, no matter how hard I try. Being Inquisitor is... challenging. I’m just thankful for those who help each day. And thankful for you.”

“You’ll have me for as long as you wish.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It is.”

He sealed the promise to her lips with his own, caressing her jaw with his light touch. The kiss was deep, but soft, desperate, but not hungry, the feeling of their impending parting ever present. 

When they did pull away, they didn’t pull far, leaving their foreheads pressed together as they clung to one another for a few more moments. Then Cullen took her hand in his own, kissing her knuckles before walking her to the stables.

***

Evelyn and Dorian stood outside the door of Redcliffe's tavern. The team had already paid a visit to the Arl, who thanked them profusely for expelling the Venatori from the castle and passed along well-wishes from the king. Though they had intended to stay the night in a local inn, Arl Teagan had insisted on personally housing them for the night, and so they had left Cassandra and Sera to settle into their rooms in Redcliffe Castle.

“The Gull and Lantern? A bit below House Pavus’s usual standards,” Dorian commented.

“I find places like these are usually better anyway.”

“Oh, I quite agree. I never said they were below _my_ standards. For the entertainment, of course. I couldn’t stomach the swill here.”

“I’ve seen you drink worse.”

“And you’ll take that to your pyre.”

“As you wish.”

Evelyn watched as her friend stared silently at the door. He ran a hand through his hair, then released a heavy sigh.

“I suppose there’s no use stalling. Let’s get this over with.”

Dorian squared his shoulders and opened the door, Evelyn following behind. The tavern was empty, lit by only a few lanterns that lined the walls. There was no sign of the retainer.

“Uh oh. Nobody’s here. This doesn’t bode well.” 

“You think it’s a trap?” Evelyn reached for the hilt of a dagger.

“ _Dorian.”_

The voice belonged to a man who had appeared from around a corner. He was older, though his hair had not yet grayed, and he wore a set of expensive looking Tevinter robes. Evelyn was certain this was no retainer, a suspicion only confirmed by Dorian’s sudden shift in demeanor. 

“A trap indeed.” His eyes narrowed as he turned toward the man, but Evelyn had not missed the brief flash of pain before he had wiped it from his face.

“ _F_ _ather._ So the whole story about the ‘family retainer’ was just… what? A smoke screen?”

“Then you were told.” Dorian’s father stepped toward him in the dim light, then turned his attention on Evelyn. “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.”

“Of course not,” Dorian snarled. “Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor! What would people think? What is this, exactly, father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?” The magister let out an exasperated sigh.

“This is how it has always been.”

“Considering you lied to get him here, Dorian has every right to be furious.” Though her face was a mask of pleasant neutrality, Evelyn’s words held malice.

“You don’t know the half of it!” Dorian snorted. “But maybe you should.”

“Dorian, there’s no need to-” his father began, but Dorian disregarded his father’s protests.

“I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves.” Evelyn glanced from Dorian to his father, who hung his head in shame.

“So _that’s_ what all this is about? Who you sleep with?”

“That’s not _all_ it’s about.”

“Dorian, please, if you’ll only listen to me-”

“Why? So you can spout more convenient lies?” Dorian spat. He didn’t turn, making it very clear his father was not welcome in this conversation.

“Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to distill the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader. It means every perceived flaw - every _aberration -_ is deviant and shameful. It must be hidden.” 

Dorian bounded toward his father then, reaching him in only two large steps and jabbing a finger through the air at his chest. “ _He_ taught me to hate blood magic. ‘The resort of the weak mind.’ Those are _his_ words. But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to… _change_ me.” His voice cracked noticeably as tears threatened to fall from his eyes. 

“I only wanted what was best for you.”

“You wanted the best for _you!_ ” Dorian snapped. “For your fucking legacy! Anything for that!” 

He threw up his hands and stalked toward the other side of the tavern, coming to rest his hands on a table. Evelyn shot the magister a particularly nasty glare, then followed after Dorian, who was shaking with rage. 

“Do you want to leave?” she asked softly. He hung his head and breathed deeply.

“I… I don’t know.” 

Evelyn was, for once, unsure what to say. What Dorian’s father had done was despicable, and the anger that bubbled within her threatened to burst at any moment. Her sole concern, however, was Dorian’s wellbeing. He needed a friend’s support, and the fact that he hadn’t stormed out already told her that this conversation wasn’t yet finished. 

“I was estranged from my own father, for a while,” she confessed, keeping her voice low. “I know circumstances are different. What he did to you was terrible. I can’t tell you what to do, Dorian. It isn’t easy, but I think you’ll regret not hearing what he has to say. You don’t have to forgive him, but I think you’ll wonder what he wanted.”

Dorian lifted his head to meet her eyes and studied her. Evelyn had feared her words would be unwelcome, that her attempt to help would only make things worse, but he responded well to her confession and approached the magister.

“Tell me why you came.”

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition…”

“You _didn’t._ I joined the Inquisition because it’s the right thing to do. Once, I had a father who would have known that.”  
  
Dorian turned away and started for the door, but his father’s voice at his back halted him in his tracks.

“Once, I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed. I only want to talk to him. To hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me.”

Dorian held still for a moment, his brows raising in surprise. He looked hopeful when he glanced toward Evelyn, who nodded encouragingly.

“I’ll meet you back in the castle?” she asked, resting a comforting hand upon his arm.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I arrive.” 

Evelyn slipped out the door, careful to shut it quietly behind her. It was a warm, sunny day in Redcliffe, and Evelyn was pleased to see the town had returned to its usual bustle. It’s inhabitants had welcomed her party warmly, including the Arl and Arlesse - a bright young woman named Kaitlyn - who had invited her to tea the following morning. It was to Evelyn’s understanding that the Arlesse was a Redcliffe native of humble roots who had made her way to Denerim during the Blight, but had returned to Redcliffe after her marriage. Evelyn had no qualms about joining her for tea, but was certain her companions wouldn’t be thrilled by the prospect. It mattered little - she would just attend on her own.

Evelyn meandered through the town and then back to her room in the castle. It was all very _Ferelden_ , she noticed as she stripped off her armor. The stone walls were lined with heraldry and wooden banisters ran across the ceiling. The bedding was made of thick furs. Somewhere further down the hall she could hear a dog barking, and she chuckled to herself as she noticed the cheese platter that had been left for her to munch on until dinner. She may be a Marcher, but Evelyn couldn’t deny Ferelden had its charms.

One such Ferelden charm was awaiting her return to Skyhold, and so she sat at the large writing desk in the corner and grabbed an inkpot, quill, and paper as she nibbled on cubes of cheese. 

_Cullen,_ she wrote.

_Our journey has gone smoothly thus far, and we are on schedule to return on time as expected. The targets Cassandra were seeking have been eliminated, and Redcliffe has welcomed us with open arms. The Arl was particularly accommodating, and as such I am currently writing you from my temporary lodgings in Redcliffe Castle. It’s certainly been a much kinder greeting than the last I received here - I’ll even be taking tea with the Arlesse in the morning before we set off for Skyhold. We’ll have a few stops to make, but by the time you receive this, we should only be about a day or so away. This letter should arrive with a large crate of furs and cheese gifted to me by the Arl. Please distribute it all as you see fit, as there’s far more than I could ever know what to do with. (Except for the large fur blanket - that’s mine!)_

_I adore Ferelden. The people are determined, tenacious, and strong-willed. They are an honest sort, and I find they remind me of you. I think it only makes me miss you more._

_You’ll be pleased to know we’ve run into little trouble. Currently the greatest risk to my well-being is the amount of cheese I’ve been expected to consume. It would be terribly dull if the Inquisitor died from an overabundance of cheese, no?_

_I can’t wait to see you again. I have full faith that you’ve kept everything running in good order. In fact, I’m certain you’ve been working too hard, so consider this an order to take a break. I hope you’re otherwise well, and I look forward to seeing you soon._

_Yours,_

_Evelyn_

She sealed the letter with wax and stamped it, then stood, intending to find one of her scouts to bring it back to Skyhold. Instead, she nearly collided with Sera, who rounded the corner through her doorway just as Evelyn was exiting.

“Andraste’s tits!” Evelyn exclaimed. “What are you in such a rush for?” Sera giggled.

“Nice to know you aren’t too big to use the word ‘tits.’”

“I have a way with words,” Evelyn grinned. “Did you need something?”

“I have an Inquisitor favor to ask. Just a little thing, really. Were you going somewhere?”

“Just to send out a letter. It can wait a moment.” Sera broke into a crooked smile.

“Sending love letters to Commander Uptight, are you?” She turned backwards and made vulgar, sloppy kissing noises, running her hands along her own back. Evelyn snorted and shook her head.

“Not a fan of Cullen, are you?” 

“Your _Cullen Wullen? Cully Wully?”_ Sera turned to face her again, ridiculous baby talk spewing from her with each atrocious nickname. “Can’t say I have a problem with him. He’s just too serious, is all. I think it’s good, actually. You and him. Lots of men under him, needs a woman over him.” She began making a rather obscene gesture, but then stopped and shrugged. “Because positions.” 

Evelyn cleared her throat. “What was it you needed?”

“A little march around with some of your people. It’s nothing for you, right?”

“Alright, let’s hear what you’ve got.” Sera beamed.

“Jump right in, huh? I like that! It’s a Red Jenny thing. I got a tip that some noble stiffs are arguing over Verchiel. Land squabble. They’re gettin’ little people beat up. I need you to go to your big table and send some people to walk through town.”

“Just… walk through?” Evelyn asked, incredulous.

“Just walk through! Easy, right?”

“Who’s asking for this?”

“ _I’m_ asking, because I heard people complaining. See, when nobles fight, it’s not _them,_ it’s their little people stuck in the middle. It’s like a polite war, so no one pays attention. But if _you_ march though, the people up top feel threatened too. Stuff like this is always happening. Good sovereigns to be made if you’re one of the few who notice.”

“Was this a tip from one of your ‘friends?’”

“Not a Jenny, just normal angry people getting sick of being in the middle. I don’t usually hear about things this far away, but having a friend like you is like getting really big ears. _Bigger_ ears, I guess. Shut up. Point is, nobles think everyone is out to get them. When your helmets march through, both sides will think the other is your ally. Both get scared, both make deals. Worst case, you get a little bump among the people just because they see you active. Can’t _promise_ anything, but _something_ will happen. Just like always.”

Evelyn considered the proposition. Sera had a point. Convincing Cullen would be a challenge, but she felt she could persuade him. 

“Alright, Sera. I’ll have someone look into it.” Sera seemed pleased.

“It’s fun, right? Being important without doing a thing? Well, not much of a thing. Not everything has to be torn skies and ancient arseholes. Every little thing makes a difference somewhere.” 

She skipped off down the hall, ignoring Evelyn’s warning not to stir up too much trouble. Evelyn left her letter with an Inquisition scout, then returned to the desk, reading over some reports that had been brought to her from Skyhold. She had only gotten through a few when she was disturbed by a knock at her door. She looked over her shoulder to find Dorian standing in her doorway.

“Am I intruding?” he asked.

“Of course not. Come in.” 

Evelyn turned in her seat as Dorian crossed the room to peer out her window.

“He says we’re alike. Too much pride. Once I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now I’m not certain. I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“Are you alright?”

“No. Not really.” He turned from the window and sat heavily on a long sofa. “Thank you for bringing me out here. It wasn’t what I expected but… it’s something. Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”

“I think you’re very brave.”

“Brave?” 

“It’s not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path.” Dorian smiled, and Evelyn noticed it was the first true, genuine smile she had seen from him in days.

“You’re a remarkable woman, Inquisitor. I mean that in the best way. In another life…” he sighed. “What I mean to say is, I can desist with the flirting, if you prefer.”

“Desist? Don’t you dare!” Evelyn teased. Dorian laughed.

“I stand so instructed. At any rate, time to drink myself into a stupor. It’s been a long day.”

“There’s a bottle of something over by the cheese. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but you’re welcome to it.”

“A true friend!”

He popped the cork and poured a glass for each of them, handing one to Evelyn. Then he returned to his seat on the sofa, resting a foot over his knee.

“I wanted to ask you what happened between you and your father. Of course, if it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer. It’s just... after today’s events, I couldn’t help but wonder.” Evelyn froze for only a second, but it was long enough for Dorian to notice.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s alright, I just…” She sighed. “Where do I start?”

“That bad?”

“I had an affair with our stable hand.”

Dorian let out a low whistle. He was nobility. There was no need to explain to him just how grievous a sin that was.

“That must be quite a tale.”

“It is. And one I don’t make a habit of telling.” She downed a large gulp of the Ferelden wine, then stared down at the floor. “Ferelden refugees poured into the Free Marches during the Blight. Most went to Kirkwall, but Ostwick had its fair share. A few years afterwards, my father hired a new groom. His name was Donovan, and we took to each other immediately. You know how shallow most of the nobles are. Donovan was… refreshing. Charming. He came from a family of Ferelden refugees. I was eighteen, and father had just begun searching for potential suitors, but I was a rebellious thing. I suppose I still am - he still hasn’t succeeded. Anyway, my brother Rowan and I used to get into all sorts of trouble. I was better at not getting caught than he was, but I was just as guilty. When Donovan arrived, he was young and exciting, and I liked how he flirted with me. It developed quickly. I used to sneak out every morning and take my horse for a ride, just to have an excuse to meet him in the stables before anyone else woke.”

“You still do that,” Dorian observed.

“I do. Old habits,” Evelyn shrugged. “We grew close, and I kept finding ways to ruin any betrothals my father attempted to arrange. I have a talent for it, apparently. Unfortunately, it made me popular among the men in Ostwick. The more I rejected, the more others wanted to be the one to win my hand. It didn’t matter, though. Donovan and I grew closer. It actually lasted for a long time. Thinking about it now, I don’t know how we didn’t get caught sooner. He used to sneak into my room through the window some nights. It’s a miracle nobody witnessed _that.”_

“You naughty thing,” Dorian tutted. 

Evelyn smirked. “It wasn’t _always_ like that.”

“So you don’t deny it happened?”

“Oh, it definitely did.”

“Does Cullen know about this?”

“I can’t say the men I’ve bedded have come up in day to day conversation.”

“Fair enough. Go on.”

“I had a house call one day from a potential suitor. He was a conniving ass. He caught Donovan and I in a... _compromising situation_ , and threatened to tell my father if I didn’t agree to marry him. I refused. Donovan was fired and thrown out immediately. I cried and begged, but it did nothing. I haven’t heard from Donovan since - my father made sure of it. We couldn’t talk without fighting for years after that.”

“You loved him?”  
  
“I did. I’d have given it all up to marry him in a heartbeat. But it was years ago. Things have changed.”

“That’s quite the understatement.”  
  
“I was awful for a while though. Rowan and I were always trouble, but at the time this happened he had just earned his full knighthood with the Templars, and they liked a good party on their nights off. Rowan let me tag along, and things got out of hand more than once. The lockpicking skills I picked up have come in handy though, wouldn’t you say?”

They laughed, recalling just how many locks Evelyn had picked open since joining the Inquisition. Nobody could say it wasn’t a _useful_ skill, regardless of its nefarious origins.

“So what you’re telling me is that, in addition to your nighttime activities, Cullen is entirely unaware of this former lover?”

“I’m not deliberately hiding it, we’ve just been busy with other things. And _no,_ I don’t mean _that!”_ she chastised, noticing his wicked grin. 

“You want to though.”

“We aren’t rushing things. As it is I’m constantly away for weeks at a time.”

“You’ll be together for the journey to and from Halamshiral.”

“Yes, perhaps we’ll sneak away to make mad love in between finding the assassin and trying not to be eaten alive by the court.”

Dorian grinned. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Let’s just try not to get killed,” Evelyn said. “You should know you’re the only one I’ve told about Donovan. It’s not something I like to share.”

“I won’t tell a soul. I think we’ve both learned enough about each other’s tragic pasts for one evening, wouldn’t you say?”

“Agreed. Unless you’d still like to talk?”

“No, no, I think that’s enough personal trauma for today.” He glanced about the room, eyes falling on the platter near Evelyn’s bed. “They really do have a thing for cheese here, don’t they?”

***

“It’s too tight,” Cullen grumbled, pulling at his collar. Josephine ignored him, just as she had during his last two fittings. He wasn’t even sure what the purpose of them was anymore, since clearly his input wasn’t needed. 

“It looks perfect,” she told the seamstress. “You’ve done fantastic work. We’ll do a final fitting for the Inquisitor once she arrives back from Redcliffe. You are free to enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

The seamstress nodded and then exited Cullen’s office. Cullen wasted no time in pulling the formal red garment from his person, much to Josephine’s dismay. 

“Cullen, this is most inappropriate!” she scolded.

“I’m not wearing this damn thing for a second longer than I have to. And there’s no need to be so dramatic, I didn’t take off my breeches.” That would be remedied soon, however, as he quickly climbed the ladder to his loft and changed into his usual clothes before beginning the process of fastening himself into his armor, leaving Josephine calling after him from below.

“I’m dramatic? All I did was ask you to put on a formal jacket, and you’re throwing a fit like a child.”

“It _itches.”_

Josephine scoffed. “Must you be so _stubborn?”_

“Must _you_ be so-“ 

He paused as the horns blared and the sound of Skyhold’s gates opening rang through the air. 

“Good,” Josephine muttered as he rushed past her and out the door. “Let the Inquisitor deal with you.” 

Fifteen days Evelyn had been gone, and Cullen felt lighter with every step as he raced down the steps of the battlements. 

Fifteen days. Fifteen war council meetings. Fourteen nearly sleepless nights. Twelve training sessions with the recruits. Seven trebuchet inspections. Five withdrawal headaches. Four sent letters. Three new guard schedules. Two unbearable formalwear fittings. 

One Evelyn Trevelyan.

Her toes had barely found solid ground when he wrapped his arms around her and thanked the Maker for another safe return. Strands of hair fell loose from her braid and she was covered in dirt and sweat, but Cullen was relieved to see her arrive unharmed. 

“I see you’ve abandoned discretion,” she laughed. The sound was sweeter than the carillon of the Grand Cathedral.

“It’s too late for that. I already heard some choice rumors floating through the barracks.” 

“Oh? What did these rumors entail?” Cullen blushed vibrantly. 

“I think it best if they were never repeated.”

“And what is this soldier’s crime?” Evelyn gestured to one of Cullen’s men, who was currently mucking stalls. 

“He’s the original source.”

“Perhaps I should ask _him,_ then,” she teased, taking a playful step toward the soldier. Cullen lunged for her hand and pulled her back to him, and she giggled happily as she fell into his chest.

“Can you two go be adorable someplace else?” Dorian clapped Cullen on the back as he passed, not stopping on his way toward the fortress. “I’m feeling an irrepressible urge to vomit.” 

“Would you rather us be doing what the soldiers think we’re doing?” Evelyn called after him. Dorian threw up his hands, and Cullen’s already flushed cheeks grew hotter. For once, he was thankful for the interruption that stopped his having to respond.

“Welcome back, Inquisitor,” Josephine greeted. Though she and Evelyn had become close, the Ambassador was always the epitome of formality when others were in earshot. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, as you’ve only just returned, but I’m afraid there’s a matter that requires your immediate attention.”

“Has something happened?” Evelyn asked, her brows knitting together in concern.

“We need you to sit in judgement. The prisoner has been in the dungeon since just after your departure.” Evelyn glanced between Josephine and Cullen, who made no effort to hide his annoyance. “It… would be best if I explained on the way.” 

***

“You answered the death of your clan _with a goat?”_

The Avvar chief stood in chains before Evelyn, who perched on the throne. Josephine had filled her in on the details as quickly as she could while Evelyn bathed and dressed in her formal attire. However, no amount of briefing could have fully prepared her for _this._

Chief Movran the Under was a formidable man, only emphasized by the massive horns that adorned his helm. His charges were a direct assault on Skyhold’s walls… with a goat. _Multiple_ goats, in fact.

What Evelyn wouldn’t give to have seen Cullen receive _that_ news.

As it was, the Avvar man laughed at her question, seeming to care little that he was being held prisoner. 

“A courtroom?” he dismissed. “Unnecessary! You killed my idiot son, and I answered, as is my custom, by smacking your holdings with goat’s blood.”

Evelyn’s brows shot upwards, unsure what to make of this statement. She turned toward Josephine, who only shook her head in response.

“Don’t look at me.”

“Sweet holy Andraste, this is ridiculous,” Evelyn muttered, rubbing at her forehead with a gloved hand. It took every ounce of self control she had to smother the urge to laugh.

“No foul!” Chief Movran shrugged, “He meant to murder Tevinters, but got feisty with your Inquisition. A red-headed mother guarantees a brat. Do as you’ve earned, Inquisitor. My clan yields. My remaining boys have brains still in their heads!” He laughed, and Evelyn couldn’t keep the corners of her lips from curling upward.

“It seems our conflict was accidental, Chief Movran, but it can’t be repeated. I banish you and your clan - with as many weapons as you can carry - to Tevinter.”

The Chief laughed once again, and the sound thundered through Skyhold’s hall. “My idiot boy got us something after all!”

Inquisition soldiers led him from the hall as Evelyn rose from the throne and chuckled. She stepped toward Josephine, who jotted down notes with a feathered quill.

“I apologize for this, Inquisitor. His crime was _so-“_

“Absurd?”

“Indeed. It didn’t seem right to keep him locked up any longer, but we needed you to make the decision.”

“It was entertaining, if nothing else. I’m sure our brave commander defended us well from the assault?” Even Josephine, ever poised, couldn’t help but snicker as she recalled the memory.

“It’s a shame you missed it. It was quite a sight. He and his men had to collect the Chief from the mountains and bring him in. I felt badly for anyone who had to deal with him for the rest of the day. He was in such an ill humour after that, anyone who crossed him was set to task cleaning goats’ blood from the walls.”

“I miss all the fun,” Evelyn pouted, but Josephine only laughed. 

“I heard otherwise. Seems the Arlesse was quite taken with you. Your visit to Redcliffe was a success. Regardless, I shouldn’t keep you any longer. You deserve a moment of peace, at the very least. Shall I have dinner sent to you in your quarters, or would you prefer to come down?”

“I’d love it sent up, if you don’t mind. I’m desperate for a quiet evening.”

“Will you be requiring a second plate?” The question’s tone was casual, but Josephine had a glint in her eye that Evelyn had come to appreciate. She wasn’t _always_ all business.

“That would be perfect. Thank you.” Josephine turned to go.

“Oh, and Josephine-“

“Two slices of chocolate cake. I’m already on it.”

“Have I told you you’re my favorite?”

“Frequently,” she smiled. “But it’s always nice to hear.”

Evelyn made her way up the stairs and plopped onto the edge of her bed. She peeled off her gloves and discarded them beside her, then collapsed heavily into the downy bedding, the toes of her boots just brushing the stone floor. 

It had been an exhausting two weeks. Her travels always were. Nights spent sleeping in tents and rotating watch duty, rarely getting a decent rest before setting off again, wore her down. Her muscles ached from a long day of riding and she thought she might fall asleep in her odd position, if only because the effort to move was too great.

It wasn’t to be. Her eyes jolted open with the sound of a sharp knock at her door. 

“Evelyn?” Cullen’s voice called from below.

“I’m up here.” She sat up groggily as Cullen strode over to her little table and set down two heaping plates.

“Josephine sent me up with dinner for the two of us, though it looks like enough for five. She must think we don’t eat enough.”

“After today, I might be able to eat enough for five.” Evelyn stretched her arms upward lazily, unable to stifle a yawn. Cullen chuckled.

“Look at you. You’re exhausted.” He moved to stand next to where she sat on the edge of her bed and stroked her hair. Evelyn leaned into him, eyelids drooping at the comforting touch. 

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but another yawn betrayed her lie. 

“Come on. Dinner and then bed, for you.”

Evelyn held out her arms straight in front of her like a child, and Cullen smiled as he took her hands and pulled her to her feet. She reached her head upward for a chaste kiss, then trudged to the table and fell into a chair. 

“I missed you,” she said as he settled in across from her.

“I missed _you._ I’m glad you’re back. Josephine has been driving me crazy preparing to leave for Halamshiral.” 

“Don’t worry, she’ll be back to fussing over me tomorrow and forget all about you,” Evelyn said as she stabbed at her plate.

“I can only hope.”

“Did you receive the crate from the Arl?”

“I did. I don’t think we’ll ever want for cheese again. The kitchen staff hardly knows what to do with it all. Most of the furs have been sent to our soldiers, but the blanket you wanted was set aside for you.” 

“Thank you. I’m glad they could make use of it.” She hadn’t realized how hungry she truly was until she started eating, and though she was too well-disciplined to really scarf it down, the pace with which she ate was still faster than usual. 

“You’ll be going from Ferelden to the heart of Orlais. That’s quite the difference in culture.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Orlais. I’ve never seen the Winter Palace, though. I hear it’s lovely.” At that, Cullen pulled a face, and Evelyn couldn’t keep from chuckling at his sour expression. “Not a fan of Orlais, I take it?”

“No, if I’m being honest. Everything is so…”

“Gaudy?”

“Exactly. And the Orlesians never say what they mean. Leliana and Josephine have been trying to explain The Game to me all week, but I still think it’s ridiculous.”

“At least you’re coming with me this time.” Her voice had become uncharacteristically soft, and Cullen paused in his eating to study her face before his own broke into a wide smile.

“I am. I’m thankful for that.” The way he looked at her made her heart flutter, and though it seemed like there was something else he wished to say, he eventually dropped his gaze back to his plate as a blush crept up his neck.

“Is something wrong?” Evelyn asked.

“It’s just… _Maker’s breath_ , you’re beautiful.”

Now it was Evelyn’s turn to blush, and she felt the heat in her cheeks rising under the adoration in his gaze. She was unsure how to respond to it. Evelyn was used to men looking to take advantage of her status or her body, but what she received from Cullen was so warm, so _genuine,_ that it threw her off. At an unusual loss for words, she smiled brightly and intertwined her legs with his beneath the table.

They finished dinner, and Evelyn paused for just a moment to change into comfortable silk nightclothes behind her room divider before returning to finish dessert. 

As she finished a last bite of cake, her stomach felt some regret at the amount of food she had just consumed. After two weeks on the road, however, it was a welcome change. Cullen appeared in much the same state, and Evelyn couldn’t keep from laughing at his appearance.

“What?” he asked as they both rose to their feet.

“You’ve got cake on your face,” she giggled. Cullen wiped at his face, but the chocolate remained as he missed the spot on his lip.

“Here. Let me.” 

Evelyn took his face in her hand and wiped away the offending crumb with her thumb. Her gaze flickered from his lips to his eyes, with which he stared at her with an intensity so strong she was sure he could see straight through her. Slowly, she reached for his lips with hers. 

The kiss was soft and sweet, and Cullen’s gaze followed her lips when she pulled back away. When she yawned again, however, he cleared his throat and then placed a gentle hand on the middle of her back.

“Bedtime for you,” he said, guiding her over to the expensive four poster.

Evelyn had no energy to argue. She allowed Cullen to lead her and slid into bed happily as he pulled back her sheets, then tucked them back over her. By the time Cullen placed a light kiss onto her forehead, the fade had already claimed her.

Cullen watched her for a moment. He was certain he’d never seen her look so peaceful. Like this, he could almost fool himself into thinking she wasn’t the knife-wielding danger she was. Not that he wanted to - Evelyn’s skills impressed him, but the difference between the sight of her in her armor or at the war table and _now,_ harmless and asleep, was uncanny.

He brushed his fingers lightly through her hair, studying the details of her sleeping form. The soft sound of her breathing, the slow rise and fall of her chest, her long lashes and her hair splayed across the pillow - each something he wished to commit to memory, a sight to remember when she was far from him.

“I love you.” He whispered. The words felt strange on his lips, but _right,_ and though he couldn’t bring himself to tell her when she was awake, he found comfort in practicing the confession to her sleeping form. 

“I love you, Evelyn.”

Perhaps, if he practiced, he could one day tell her when she would hear. 

  
  



	15. The Road to Halamshiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for your continued support! For updates and sneak peeks at future chapters, find me on tumblr @another-rogue-trevelyan!

“Vit… vita benfara?”

“ _Vitae_ _benefaria.”_

“Fasta vass!”

“Of course you learned to pronounce _that_ correctly.”

For the better part of the last hour, Dorian had been attempting to teach Evelyn some basic Tevene. She, of course, had no trouble picking up some of her friend’s favorite curse words, but anything that could be said in polite company still needed quite a bit of work.

Cullen chuckled from where he sat astride his horse, just behind the pair. He had already been subjected to a few hours of conversation between Evelyn and the other advisors in Orlesian, in which he was shocked to find Evelyn was nearly fluent. 

_Orlesian tutors,_ she had shrugged when he asked, as though that explained anything. Regardless, he had settled in behind where she rode upon her white ranger, where he could keep watch for any possible threats. That was the official reason, anyway - the view of Evelyn’s rear in the saddle was a pleasant bonus. 

The grace with which she rode was unlike any Cullen had ever seen. Evelyn perched lightly upon the horse, which responded adeptly to the subtlest of her commands. She shifted her weight with ease as needed, every gesture hardly more than a flick of her heel. 

He could hardly blame the animal for how easily it yielded to her will, as he somewhat bitterly recalled just how easily she did the same to him. 

“I need you to send a company to march through Verchiel,” she had said just before their departure. She had stood in his office in tight leather breeches and a flowing white blouse, the top laces left undone. He trained his eyes on her face and swallowed hard.

“Has something happened?” Cullen asked, shuffling through his reports to see if he had missed something. “An attack?” 

“Nothing so serious. A land dispute between some nobles. All they need to do is march through. Sera-“

“You can’t be serious.” 

“Quite serious. Send a company through, and the common folk caught in the middle may see some relief.”

“Evelyn,” Cullen said, rubbing at his temples, “We’re spread thin as it is, and there are already soldiers being spared to escort us to Halamshiral. There are far more important tasks than to send them for a _walk_. I don’t think this is the best-“

He wasn’t sure when or how it had happened, but when he looked up she was leaning languidly over his desk. From where he sat on the other side, he now had a view of something lacy down the front of her shirt. 

Cullen blushed brightly as a finger beneath his chin lifted his gaze back to her eyes. Mischief dominated her expression, and Cullen had the distinct feeling that not only had he been played, but that she knew she had won.

“Please?” she asked, red lips mere inches from his own. 

“If anyone ever asks me about how the Inquisitor conducts business, I’m telling them you’re a terrible cheat.”

“Is that a yes?” 

Cullen sighed his response into her lips. “I am at your command, Inquisitor.”

And so, despite all reasoning that told him it was a bad idea, a company had been sent to Verchiel, while the party was now less than a day from Halamshiral. Evelyn and her inner circle rode in the center while soldiers surrounded them on all sides.

“We should make camp soon,” Cullen said, observing the sun sitting low in the sky. “Before it gets dark.”

“Agreed. If that’s alright with Josie, that is,” Evelyn teased. The Ambassador had kept them on a strict schedule for most of their journey, and the closer they got to Halamshiral, the worse she became.

“You’ll thank me when we get there,” she scoffed, but acquiesced, allowing them to veer off the road and make camp for the evening.

After days on the road, the group had become quite efficient. Cullen would organize the soldiers and their tents along the outside while Evelyn and her inner circle would set up within. Fires would be made and provisions unpacked. Everyone had been assigned a day to cook on a rotating schedule, and those assigned for the day would get started as soon as possible. Everyone except for Evelyn, that is.

“It’s not my fault, I’ve never had to cook!” she cried, throwing up her hands as Dorian teased her mercilessly. 

“It wasn’t even recognizable. Charred to the sides of the pot. We had to throw the entire thing away.”

“I didn’t even know it could _do_ that!”

“It _shouldn’t_ have been able to do that! It was _stew.”_ Evelyn huffed indignantly, and Cullen chuckled as he made his way to sit beside her on a thick log. 

“Teasing her about the stew again?” 

“It was _atrocious,”_ Dorian grinned.

“How _did_ you manage to do that?” Cullen asked her. “It should be impossible.”

“Not you, too!” Evelyn dropped her head into her hands. “Someone was always paid to cook for us. I never learned!” Cullen slid a comforting arm around her back.

“Maybe I can teach you?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Dorian said. “Are you sure you want her? She’s not exactly ‘wife’ material.”

“You wouldn’t marry me, Dorian?” 

“Well, maybe. But only if you asked nicely.”

“I think she’s perfect as is,” Cullen said. Dorian groaned. 

“And there it is. I can’t get a moment's peace around here. Not with all of this adorable nonsense. It’s sickening.”

“I think it’s refreshing,” Leliana said. She had appeared from nowhere, now seated across the fire. “Good things are hard to come by these days. Enjoy it when you can.” 

They remained that way for a while, all joking and laughing until dinner (Cassandra was a far more successful cook than Evelyn). Vivienne recounted her time with the Empress, during which Leliana would excitedly interject with some of her own tales from Orlais. Josephine even had some stories of her own, and the group laughed as the Ambassador and Spymaster recounted how they had met.

“We met… let me think… We met the last few years of my schooling, but we became friends after I became Ambassador to Orlais. It seems terrifyingly long ago now.”

“It does,” Leliana agreed. “I’m glad you joined us.”

“How exactly did you and Leliana reconnect in the Inquisition?” Evelyn asked, fiddling with her spoon. Josie shook her head, recalling the story.

“I discovered my family had been overcharging a merchant we traded with for months. Our name carries a great deal of trust in Antiva. I spent weeks arranging a string of favors as suitable recompense. Apparently satisfied, the merchant extended me an invitation to her estate. _Leliana_ greeted me instead.” The Spymaster, for her part, merely smirked. 

“I needed someone of painful integrity for the Inquisition. Unsurprisingly, Josie passed.”

“And I accepted, once she finally explained what it was. She always does concoct the most ridiculous plans. Run if you ever see her with a twine ball, a measuring stick, and a handkerchief.” 

Despite their best efforts, none of them could convince either of the women to explain, as they were too consumed by their own laughter to get a word out. Giving up on the endeavor, Evelyn turned her attention to Cullen.

“If you and Cassandra are both with me, does that mean the recruits are off the hook for a while?” 

Cullen snorted. “Of course not - can’t have them getting lazy just because we’re away.”

“Then who’s training them?”

“Blackwall and Rylen.” 

“Didn’t ask the Iron Bull?” 

“I asked Bull and the Chargers to spar with them,” Cullen smirked, clearly far too pleased with himself. Evelyn playfully swatted at his arm.

“You’re evil!” The Commander only shrugged.

“They should be pleased and willing to work when I return.”

After dinner, Evelyn and the advisors retreated to her tent. It was larger than the others, though Evelyn thought it unnecessary - she was, after all, the only one with a tent to herself. She supposed she ought to get used to the special treatment, but it still seemed excessive.

“We have to reach the Empress before Corypheus,” Cullen said, spreading a map of Halamshiral across the makeshift war table. “The only question is, how? We have no idea who the assassin is.” Josephine moved beside him, placing a finger on the Winter Palace.

“The first step is done for us - I have our way in. At the urging of Grand Duchess Florianne, the Empress is holding a ball. Absolutely everyone will be there. During the festivities, Celene will be meeting for peace talks with the usurper Duke Gaspard and Ambassador Briala.”

“The assassin must be hiding in one of these factions.” Leliana pursed her lips, scanning the map before them. Evelyn glanced between her three advisors. The weight of their task was not lost on her, and she was thankful they would be with her this time.

“And what of our messengers warning the Empress?” The Spymaster shook her head.

“It seems our messages never reached her. Someone intercepted them”

“Dammit!” Evelyn breathed, leaning heavily over the table. Cullen echoed her thoughts.

“It’s better that we don’t leave this to chance. If Orlais falls to Corypheus, no land is safe.”

“What do we know about Duke Gaspard?” 

“The man who would have been Emperor. He’s Celene’s cousin, and was first in line to inherit the throne when emperor Florian died. Celene outmaneuvered him. She won over the Council of Heralds, who hold authority over title disputes. She became Empress, and he a general in the Imperial Army. He’s well loved by the troops. He’s also a Chevalier. Most of their number sided with him when he turned on the Empress.”

“Aren’t the Chevaliers part of the army? Why would they follow the Duke?”

“Most Chevaliers are sworn to serve the crown, but that does not give them faith in the person wearing it. The Empress has tried to improve relations with Ferelden and Nevarra. The Chevaliers see her as anti-military. They believe Gaspard could lead the Empire back to the glory of Drakon’s expansion years.”

Evelyn took this in, running a hand through her hair. A civil war was already raging. If the Chevaliers backed Gaspard, would that be enough to stage a coup at the Winter Palace?

“Tell me everything we know about the Empress.” 

Josephine thumbed through her notes, though Evelyn doubted she needed them. “Empress Celene is a renowned diplomat and reformer. She works tirelessly to secure peace for the Empire. Unfortunately, many Orlesians view peace as complacency. She has yet to name an heir, leaving the future of the Empire in doubt if anything happens to her. Especially when the next in line is her cousin Gaspard, who’s made few friends on the Council of Heralds.”

“Celene is surrounded at all times by countless guards, courtiers, servants, and vassals,” Leliana added. “What better place for an assassin to hide than the Empress’s own household?”

“How can Gaspard still be next in line while he wages war against his Empress? Even if he is the Grand Duke, isn’t that treason?”

“One would think. Orlais has rules of its own.”

“I see. And who is this Ambassador Briala?”

“An ambassador in name only. She has organized the elves of Halamshiral into an underground army. The Empress invited her to the peace talks in a bid to gain the elves’ alliance in the war. That would be scandal enough, without the rumor that Briala is a jilted lover of Celene’s.” Leliana grinned as Evelyn’s brow peaked in surprise. “A personal grudge and a network of saboteurs at her command? A promising lead.”

“Wait. The elven leader is a jilted lover of the Empress?” Evelyn asked, incredulous.

“It’s not widely known. Just a rumor whispered among the palace servants a few years ago. If it’s true and were to get out - the Empress and an _elf_ \- the scandal could destroy Celene’s court. Even if a lie, Briala could use it to blackmail the Empress. She has some connection to the throne.”

“You’ve given me plenty to think about.” Evelyn looked over each of her advisors, then stared down at the map with a hand perched on each hip. The leads were promising, but choosing the wrong one would be a deadly mistake. 

“With Gaspard and Celene’s armies entrenched, we cannot openly march troops to the palace,” Cullen mused. Leliana turned to him.

“My agents will ensure your soldiers get inside, but it must be a few at a time to avoid attention.”

“Understood.” 

“We are expected tomorrow,” Josephine said. “The political situation in Halamshiral hangs by a thread. The Empress fears our presence could sever it. The Grand Duke is only too happy to have us at the ball as his guests, so our invitation comes from him. Whether we act as his allies, or upset the balance of power, he gains an opportunity, if not a clear advantage. You must be especially careful, Inquisitor. All eyes will be on you. I know you are no stranger to nobility, but Orlais is... particularly cruel to outsiders.”

“I’ll try not to offend them too terribly with my Marcher ways,” Evelyn grinned, allowing her Ostwick accent to become more pronounced. Cullen stifled a laugh, but Josephine looked grim.

“Be ready. The Game takes no prisoners.” 

Evelyn began to follow Leliana and Cullen from the tent, but paused when she heard Josephine’s deep sigh. Cullen appeared to be waiting for her, so she waved him off and signaled she’d be out shortly before turning back to the Ambassador.

“Josie?” 

Josephine glanced up from the notes she had been reviewing and set them on the table in front of her. 

“Have you noticed anything… _unusual_ about Leliana lately?” 

With all of her fussing over their trip to Halamshiral, this hadn’t been what Evelyn was expected.

“She seems just as terrifying as always.”

“That’s just it. She’s grown much more distant than the outgoing woman I met in Val Royeaux. Leliana used to wander the Orlesian courts singing the sweetest songs, charming the greatest wits. Now she collects secrets and takes risks that would make empires tremble. I worry, but she will not hear it. I was hoping maybe she had confided in you.”

Evelyn shook her head. “We’ve become closer, but I know nothing more than you. I’m sorry I can’t be a greater help.”

“She always loved Orlais. Perhaps being back will be good for her. But it is no matter - I shouldn't take up more of your time. We both have much to do.”

“You can always come to me. You’re not just my advisor - you’re a friend. You know that, don’t you?”

Josephine smiled as she picked up her notes. “I do. Thank you, Evelyn.”

They parted ways upon leaving the tent. Evelyn had intended to find Cullen, but was accosted by Dorian before she could do so. 

“I need you to switch tents with me,” he said, taking her by the arm and leading her away. 

“You want me to sleep in your tent?”

“I don’t care if you sleep or not, but yes.” Evelyn came to a halt and turned to face her friend, who now stood in front of her with crossed arms.

Evelyn’s inner circle had been split into pairs. While she had the luxury of sleeping alone, the others had to share. Josephine had been paired with Vivienne, and Leliana with Cassandra, which left Dorian with…

“You want me to share a tent with _Cullen?_ ”

“He’s driving me _mad._ He talks in his sleep, flails about, and makes it so stiflingly _warm_. It’s like sleeping next to an oven. One more night and I might kill him, and I couldn’t bear to see your miserable little pout if that happened. Honestly, you should be thanking me for giving you the opportunity to save him before I smother him with a pillow.”

“Dorian, we haven’t spent a night together yet! I can’t just _demand_ that of him, I don’t want to put him on the spot,” Evelyn whispered intensely, heat rising in her cheeks. 

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t want to?”

“That’s not the point!”

“Well, you know what they say - no time like the present!” 

Dorian took her by the shoulders from behind and steered her in front of Cullen’s tent, her half-hearted objections falling on deaf ears. Truthfully, she was excited by the prospect, but Evelyn found herself feeling uncharacteristically nervous as she conceded that she would _ask_ Cullen if he would be comfortable with it. She shooed Dorian away, then faced the tent before her, a hand flitting upward to tuck her hair behind her ear. 

“Cullen?” she called, taking a tentative step toward the tent. He stepped out faster than she expected, and they would have collided had Cullen not caught her upper arms to steady them both. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t realize you were standing there,” he said, checking her over for damage.

“I’m fine, Cullen. You didn’t even bump me, and I’m in full armor. No need to worry about it.”

Cullen smiled sheepishly. “I… was there something you needed?”

The nerves flared again, and Evelyn was sure a deep blush had stained her cheeks as she shifted about in front of him. As much as she wanted this, she struggled to actually get the words out, a situation only growing worse as the seconds passed and Cullen’s expression held more and more confusion. Mentally, she chastised herself for behaving like an infatuated teenager. 

“I was… Dorian asked me if… perhaps he and I could… _switch tents_ for the night. He would prefer a night alone, and thought perhaps I… or that _you_ and I… Would that be alright with you?”

The last words strung together and tumbled from her mouth with little grace, but the brightening of Cullen’s own blush told her that he had understood her anyway. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again and scratched nervously at his neck.

“Is… that what _you_ want?” 

Evelyn should have been prepared for the question. She should have expected nothing less from Cullen, who always put her feelings first, but instead she allowed it to catch her off guard. She felt it in the pit of her stomach as the nerves swelled once again, but she refused to make a _complete_ fool of herself and instead forced herself to meet his eyes.

“Yes. It is. If it’s alright with you.”

Evelyn didn’t think it was possible for him to blush brighter, but he did, now perhaps the most red she’d ever seen him. He stared at her, mouth agape, with no sign of moving any time soon.

“Is it?” Evelyn prodded gently. “Alright with you?”

“I… yes.”

“You really don’t have to say yes if it isn’t.”

“No! I mean… What I’m trying to say, is… _Maker!_ You make me into such a fool, you know that?”

Cullen took her hands in his own, and stared down at them as he rubbed over them with his thumbs. His usual stubble had grown just a bit longer from days on the road, but it wasn’t enough to hide the blush that refused to subside. 

“I... would like that,” he said at last. “Very much. Would you like to come in?”

“I’ll just change first?”

Cullen nodded, and Evelyn returned quickly to her own tent, where Dorian had already made himself at home. She kicked him out while she swapped her armor for cotton nightclothes, ignoring his ungrateful teasing all the while, then returned to Cullen, who held the tent open as she entered. 

The tent was smaller than hers, though hers had been packed with so many items that the difference was hardly noticeable. While Evelyn’s tent was set up to temporarily hold war council, Cullen and Dorian’s was only intended for sleeping. Each had their trunk of belongings tucked to the side, and a pair of fur-lined bedrolls lay beside each other on the ground. The tent was one of the ones used on her usual travels - nothing special, but it would keep the elements out for the night.

Cullen followed in after her as she slid into Dorian’s bedroll. In the time she was gone, he had removed his armor and was similarly dressed in comfortable cotton. Though they usually conversed with little trouble, both were at a loss for words as they settled in for the night. 

“Are you alright?” Evelyn asked him, noting how stiffly he lay beside her. He was flat on his back, but turned his head to look at her. 

“Of course. I just… I’ll admit you’ve got me a bit nervous.”

“And what if I said you’ve got me nervous as well?” Evelyn laid on one side to face him, her head propped up in one hand. 

“I can’t imagine how that could be true. You’re a force of nature.”

“You’ve got me absolutely smitten, Commander.” 

Cullen beamed and turned his body toward her. “I think it’s you that’s bewitched me. Forgive me if I didn’t seem excited. I’ve... wanted this for a while, but I wasn’t expecting it to be _tonight._ I would’ve made our first night together more special.”

“It _is_ special.” 

Cullen chuckled. “You’re right. As usual.”

He closed the distance between them to place a soft kiss on her lips, a hand slipping around her waist to pull her closer. It then slid down her back, over her rear and down her leg, eventually landing just behind her knee. He pulled it up around his waist as the kiss deepened, and Evelyn used the new leverage along with a hand at the back of his neck to pull him on top of her. 

They felt for each other in the darkness of the tent with wandering hands, Evelyn’s wrapped in his now-mussed curls while Cullen’s lips found their way to the soft skin of her neck. Each contented sigh urged him on, and he kissed her more fiercely, their bodies pressed together as she guided him back to her lips. Her hand traveled down his backside as he licked her lower lip, requesting an entry she enthusiastically granted. Evelyn could feel him pressing into her as his hand found its way to her breast. 

The sound of a snapping twig pulled them out of their trance, and they remained frozen in place as footsteps passed their tent.

“Thin walls,” Evelyn breathed, cursing herself for her stupidity. _Of course_ anyone outside could hear them if this progressed any further. They were in a _tent_ for Andraste’s sake! Reluctantly, Cullen pulled himself off of her. It seemed he had reached the same conclusion.

“We should... get some rest,” he said awkwardly. Evelyn didn’t need the daylight to know that he was flushed again. 

“Yes,” she conceded. “I suppose we should.”

She curled herself up against him, head resting on his chest and an arm and leg draped over him. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her tightly against him.

“Cullen?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for letting me stay with you tonight.”

“You can stay with me anytime you like.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Evelyn.”

He pressed a final kiss into her hair, and Evelyn allowed the steady rise and fall of his chest to guide her into the fade.

***

Cullen couldn’t sleep. 

It wasn’t for lack of trying, but his mind was reeling as Evelyn slept peacefully on his chest. It wasn’t her presence, exactly, that kept him awake. On the contrary, she was soft and comforting, and a few times he had nearly drifted off listening to the quiet rhythm of her breathing. It wasn’t _her_ that was the problem. It was how badly he _wanted_ her. 

Cullen wasn’t used to wanting things. Templars didn’t keep personal items, excluding the one small coin he had snuck with him from Honnleath, and it had been years since any woman had caught his attention. 

But _Maker,_ he wanted _her_.

It had been easier, in the beginning, to repress the feeling. A stolen kiss now and then had been enough to hold him over for days. He still cherished each one she allowed him, but another feeling was emerging in him that had become difficult to ignore. 

Sex was not an easy topic for him. Actually, it was an _impossible_ topic, seeing as he still turned into a blushing, stammering mess when she so much as looked at him a certain way. If that wasn’t bad enough, he hadn’t any idea how she felt about it, and the possibility of making her uncomfortable had caused him to pull back every time. 

Though he wasn’t particularly good at reading women, Cullen was fairly certain Evelyn had shown no signs of wanting to stop just a few short hours ago, which had left him with more questions than answers. He was a gentleman, after all - or at least he _tried_ to be, but the fact that he was thinking so intensely about this at all had him questioning it. The southward redirection of his blood flow as he pondered it was not helping the situation. 

He ached for her. He wanted to worship every inch of her with his lips, to lose himself within her and to be unsure where he ended and she began. 

But _how_ was he supposed to tell her that?

He couldn’t just say it, for fear of putting her on the spot. He would never want her to feel pressured, and so he had resigned himself to his quiet longing until he could be certain she wanted the same.

Just as Cullen was reasoning that, with his skill, he might _never_ know if she wanted the same, Evelyn stirred. Still asleep, she balled his shirt in her grip and clung to him tightly, her face contorting as her brows pulled together. 

“ _No… Leliana, don’t! I can’t… can’t save…”_

“Evelyn,” Cullen whispered, gently stroking her back. “Evelyn!”

A little louder that time, and her stirring stopped as she held her position rigidly, then turned her head to look at him. 

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked.

“I… I’m fine. It was just a dream.” She buried her face into him, avoiding his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she said too quickly, but then she sighed heavily and buried herself even deeper, mumbling into his shirt. “Yes. But you’ll think I’m foolish.”

“I would never think that.” If only she knew how brave he thought she was - demons faced on the battlefield were far easier to fight than the ones in your own head. Cullen knew that better than most.

“I still have nightmares,” she confessed. “Of Redcliffe. Of that awful future.” She swallowed, and Cullen continued to stroke her back soothingly as she spoke. 

“Cullen, it was _horrible_. The lyrium glowed red, and it hummed as you passed by, singing it’s maddening song, and it grew from the bodies of living people, like… like some sort of _parasite_. Our friends were infected, and Leliana had been tortured because they wanted _me_ , and everyone else was dead. Poor Connor turned himself to flames right in front of me, and…”

She paused to breathe deeply, and Cullen pressed his lips to her forehead, allowing her a moment to collect herself. 

“And it doesn’t go away when I wake up. It was _real,_ Cullen. That’s what happens if we fail. If _I_ fail. And Dorian and I are the only two who witnessed it. I’m afraid that it may still happen.”

“Evelyn.”

She pulled her face tentatively from where she had hidden it to meet his eyes in the darkness. Cullen knew how hard this had been for her to admit. Evelyn hated anything that made her look weak or fragile, a feeling that he quite understood.

“You are so strong. And so brave. And you don’t have to carry that burden alone. You know that, right?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, she blinked rapidly, drawing a finger across her eye to hide a single escaped tear.

“I have nightmares of my own. Of Kinloch. Of Kirkwall. I know how they make you feel like a child afraid of the dark. I would never think less of you for them.”

“Cullen…”

Even in the darkness, the way she looked at him made him melt. Her gaze held gentle intensity, and though he couldn’t be certain of the root of her loss for words, he sensed she had something more she wished to say.

“I… Thank you,” she said at last. “For always being here.”

“I’m here anytime you need me.”

One more trail of small kisses placed upon her forehead, nose, and lips, and they were curled into one another once again, a tangle of limbs as this time they both drifted off to sleep. 

  
  



	16. Before the Ball

_Ostwick, 9:33 Dragon_

_Evelyn was wedged tightly in the carriage between Rowan and Aisling. The eldest of the siblings, Aspen, had once again drawn the best straw._

_“It’s good to be the heir, isn’t it?” Rowan muttered so only Evelyn could hear. Aspen and their parents were enjoying a roomy ride in another carriage, while the three other Trevelyan siblings shared with their great aunt and uncle._

_“This is one of my_ favorite _operas!” Aunt Lucille gushed. “I’m sure you’ll all just love it!”_

_Evelyn felt Rowan’s snide remark coming, and promptly stomped on his foot before he could voice it._

_“I’m certain we will, Aunt Lucille,” she said, loudly enough to cover the sound of her brother’s yelp. It wasn’t quite convincing, but luckily the carriage lurched to stop before their aunt could become too suspicious._

_“Someone ought to teach this new groom of yours how to drive. Nobility shouldn’t be jostled around like commoners.”_

_“Serah Braxton isn’t normally a coachman,” Evelyn explained. “Our usual driver was ill. It was kind of him to volunteer.”_

_“Evelyn, you’re such a dear! He’s the_ help, _darling. If they don’t meet your expectations, they can be replaced. You’d do well to remember that.” The pointed look Evelyn received from her aunt made it clear she was not to protest._

_“I… yes, Aunt Lucille. How silly of me.”_

_The carriage door swung wide, and Rowan and their uncle climbed out first, followed by Aunt Lucille, who chastised the owner of the hand that helped her down the step. Evelyn followed behind._

_She placed her silk gloved hand into Donovan’s as he guided her down from the carriage. It was a warm, clear evening. Crickets chirped in the distance, but they could barely be heard over sounds of whinnying horses and chattering opera goers, all dressed in finery and excitedly making their way toward the opera house._

_“You’re looking lovely tonight, Lady Trevelyan.”_

_Donovan’s eyes lingered longer than they should have. So did his grasp on her hand, and Evelyn felt her cheeks grow hot as she smoothed out her dress. She flicked open a delicate lace fan, hoping the breeze would help._

_“Thank you, Serah Braxton. That’s very kind.”_

_“Evelyn, dear, come here! I simply_ must _introduce you to someone!”_

_The spell that had come over them was broken by Lucille’s shrill summons. Donovan quickly turned to assist her sister as Evelyn turned to see Aunt Lucille with..._

_No. No, no, n-_

_“Ser Fernsby, this is my niece, Lady Evelyn Trevelyan. Evelyn, this is Lord Lawrence Fernsby, son of Bann Fernsby. You of course remember the Bann? A lovely family! Ser Fernsby will be joining us in our box tonight, isn’t that wonderful? I think you two will get along swimmingly!”_

_“A pleasure, Lady Trevelyan.” Evelyn felt Donovan’s eyes boring into her from behind, but there was nothing she could do. Her aunt had trapped her. As it was, she had taken seconds too long to reply - the glare she was receiving made her expectation clear._

_“The pleasure is mine,” she forced as the gentleman placed a polite kiss on her knuckles._

_“We’d best head inside,” her aunt chirped, looking far too pleased. “Come along!”_

_Evelyn regretfully took Lord Fernsby’s arm, feeling every bit like an animal caught in a trap. She snuck a backward glance as he led her away, her heart sinking as she caught Donovan’s crestfallen form behind her._

***

Halamshiral was beautiful.

The architecture, in Evelyn’s opinion, rivaled even that of Val Royeaux. Blossoming flowers grew in tasteful gardens while the buildings glittered above. There wasn’t much time to enjoy it, however. 

Josephine had kept them on a tight schedule. They arrived at their destination in the early afternoon, where they were quickly directed to the Winter Palace’s guest quarters. Preparation had been nonstop, and Evelyn sensed her Ambassador was one wardrobe malfunction away from a full breakdown. 

Evelyn was currently submerged in a large tub. The water steamed around her, and rose scented bubbles threatened to spill over the edge with any sudden movement. It might have even been relaxing, if not for-

“Josie, you _are_ aware that I can bathe myself?”

Josephine was currently dumping more perfumed soap into the water as the bubbles salvaged what was left of Evelyn’s modesty. “And not that this isn’t lovely, but I prefer lavender.”

“Lavender is out of season,” she said simply, and Evelyn screeched as a bucket of soapy water dumped over her head. 

“How can lavender be out of season?” she spluttered. “It’s timeless!”

“The fashion changed days ago. Roses are the perfume of choice now.”

“I hate Orlais.” Evelyn muttered as Josie came at her with a nail file and sponge. She was lucky she hadn’t heard. 

“ _Josephine!”_

Evelyn held up her hands, causing the Ambassador to stop in her tracks.

“Evelyn, you must understand-“

“I _do_ understand, but I am more than capable of bathing _on my own._ Give me fifteen minutes alone, and I will be scrubbed and polished and smelling like a rose garden. _Please.”_

Thankfully, Josephine relented. She handed Evelyn the sponge and set the file aside, then assured her (multiple times) that she would be back after checking on the state of the others. She left with a final reminder not to forget to scrub behind her ears.

“ _Maker,”_ Evelyn sighed, sinking further into the water. She relished the quiet, knowing that it would likely be the only peace she would get for a while, and she allowed her mind to wander as she scrubbed away the day’s travels.

Never had Evelyn recalled feeling as safe in her vulnerability as she had with Cullen the night before. While her instinct was to hide any weaknesses, a tendency ingrained by her by a noble upbringing, Cullen had torn down her walls without even trying. He held her as she confessed the memories that haunted her, listening intently, and - most importantly - assured her that she wasn’t alone. 

And so, instead of the anxious fear that normally plagued her, another feeling had swelled within her that scared her just as much.

“I love him.”

The words were an imperceptible whisper, spoken aloud only so she could be sure they were real. She smiled broadly and paused in her scrubbing, taking in the quiet confession and feeling far more naked than she did by her lack of clothes.

“I’m in love with Cullen.”

Evelyn clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle a giggle, cheeks hurting from smiling. 

_“Maker,_ I’m in trouble.”

“Evelyn, darling, I’m coming in!”

Evelyn quickly turned her giggles into a conspicuous cough as Vivienne flitted into the room.

“Are you ill?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

“Good. No one can poison you and blame your death on illness. Orlesians never get sick.”

“I doubt they _never_ get sick.”

“They do, but no one knows about it,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “It’s no matter, I’m here to get you ready.”

“Has Josephine given up on me so easily?”

“I believe she’s busy wrangling Cassandra and Cullen into uniform. Ah! Here’s the rest of your team.”

Leliana leaned against the door. Had it not been for Vivienne, Evelyn wouldn’t have even noticed she had snuck in. Each wore a formal red jacket, blue sash, gloves, and boots. Polished buttons gleamed as Leliana approached the tub.

“I’ve been instructed to fix your ‘atrocious’ nails,” she grinned, retrieving the file Josephine had left behind and brandishing it like a weapon.

“What’s wrong with my-” Evelyn began, but grimaced when she examined them. Travel and work had left beauty regimens neglected as of late. “Do they really look like that?”

“Lay back. I’ll take care of it.”

Leliana set a stool beside the tub and began the process of fixing the state of her nails while Vivienne slathered her in a sticky mask and placed a small wheel of cheese over each eye. Evelyn was unsure what the mask was made from. She didn’t dare ask.

“You’ll be formally introduced, of course. There won’t be an eye in the room turned away from you, so use the advantage well when you greet the Empress,” Vivienne said as she gathered a large supply of makeup and hair pins from the pack in Evelyn’s trunk. “You’re not just the youngest daughter of a foreign noble now. You’re the _Herald of Andraste._ The _Inquisitor._ Remember your new status and carry yourself as such. You will have to be more careful, more bold, more graceful - more _symbol_ than person, if you are to survive the evening.” 

Evelyn attempted to respond, but before she could Vivienne had launched into another speech reminding her of Orlesian court customs and updates on all of the latest scandals. By the time she had finished, Evelyn’s nails had been formed into perfect squares, the cheese and mask had been removed from her face, and - after a thorough scrubbing - she now sat before a vanity in a silk dressing gown.

Leliana had just put down an ornate hair brush to pick up some of the pins when they heard a sharp knock at the door.

“Is the Inquisitor decent?” Cassandra’s voice called.

“I’m in my robe, but yes, I’m covered.”

Cassandra stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. “Josephine has asked if she could borrow you for a moment. She’s having some trouble with the Commander.”

“Is there a problem?” 

Cassandra snorted. “It is nothing serious. It seems Cullen is displeased with his attire. They’ve been bickering for a while. She thought perhaps you could talk some sense into him.”

Evelyn sighed. Cullen wasn’t the type for formal events. He much preferred armor and open air.

“Go help your man,” Leliana said, giving her a playful nudge toward the door. Evelyn shook her head.

“I’ll try. This might be the greatest challenge of the evening.”

Evelyn slid on a fluffy pair of slippers and stepped into the hall. The Inquisition had been placed in their own wing of the palace, which allowed them relative privacy, though Evelyn wasn’t foolish enough to think there weren’t spies around. The walls have ears in Orlais, but at the moment everyone was too busy preparing for the ball to care about who was doing the Inquisitor’s hair.

As she reached Cullen’s room, Josephine stormed out, looking as frustrated as Evelyn had ever seen her.

“I give up! I’m tempted to just lock him in there for the evening. Must he be so _difficult?”_ she huffed.

Though tonight was largely Josephine’s expertise, she was clearly on edge trying to make sure everything went perfectly. Evelyn was sure Cullen wasn’t helping.

“Josie,” She said, placing her hands on either of her friend's shoulders, “Thank you for your hard work. I’ll handle Cullen. Please, go get yourself ready.”

Josephine visibly relaxed a bit, though not very much. Evelyn would take what she could get.

“Thank you. I’ll be by your room in a bit to take care of some final details,” she said, then made her way down the hall to her own room. Evelyn sighed as she knocked and turned the handle, bracing herself for Cullen’s protests.

“Cullen, it’s just me. I heard there was...”

Evelyn paused, staring at the man in front of her. It was Cullen, but not _her_ Cullen, who wore heavy plate every day and refused to let her fix the hole in his roof. No, this Cullen was _polished._ A red jacket hugged his body, accentuating his muscular frame and broad shoulders. The gold embroidery and blue sash made him look like something out of an old fairytale. 

_“Damn.”_

He stopped tugging at his collar and turned to where she stood, frozen in the doorway. He was clean shaven, and even the curl that occasionally fell loose on his forehead had been tamed into place. He fiddled with a shiny button at his throat.

“Evelyn? Is something wrong?”

“I… You look… Why does that look better on you than it does on everyone else?” Cullen dismissed the compliment.

“I appreciate it, but that can’t be. The damn thing is too tight. It needs to be let out a little.”

“No!”

“No?”

Evelyn closed the door behind her, then wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, letting one hand trail over his shoulder and chest. She then stood on her toes and kissed him deeply. She had caught him by surprise, but he smiled into her, then wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her closer. 

“I think it’s perfect,” she praised, pulling just far enough away to look him in the eyes. “You look very handsome. You’ve got me tempted to hide in here all night.” Cullen smiled at her mischievously.

“That’s not a bad idea. I might be able to survive wearing this for an evening for you.” 

“How did you sleep?” she grinned into his lips as he kissed her again.

“Very well, up until the rude awakening we received this morning.”

Evelyn laughed, recalling Josephine’s chastising. Instead of bursting into Evelyn’s tent to wake the Inquisitor that morning, she had found a disgruntled Dorian instead. She had been less kind when she finally located her.

“And how about you?” Cullen continued. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, actually, which is strange, because I never…” Evelyn stopped the words too late, as Cullen had already noticed her hesitation.

“You never...?”

“It’s just… it sounds terribly entitled, now that I’m trying to put it into words.”

“What is it?”

“You won’t laugh?”

“I won’t laugh.”

“I… can’t sleep in tents. That’s why I’m always so tired when we return to Skyhold. The ground is hard, and the bedrolls are lumpy, and it’s _cold_ and… You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing at _you!”_ Cullen insisted as he chuckled. “I’m laughing because it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Why would I judge you for that?”

“Because you’ll think I’m some rich spoiled brat who’s never spent a night outside of an expensive feather bed. And you’d be right.”

“I would never think that.”

“I’m glad.” She smiled and peered about his room. It wasn’t as large as hers, but just as decorative. His trunk stuck out amongst the ornate decor, and a bottle of wine had been provided as a courtesy. Or, it _would_ be a courtesy, if Evelyn hadn’t known better.

“How dare they!”

“What?”

“We already sent that wine back from my own room, and they thought they could get away with leaving it here as well?” 

“I don’t even like Orlesian wine. No need to make a fuss.”

“I know. That’s why I smuggled in a Ferelden bottle. I thought you might need it after tonight.”

“Then what’s the problem? It looks expensive.” Evelyn could tell Cullen was deeply confused.

“That wine is… _fine._ It’s high end - good enough to be present in the Winter Palace, at least. But it’s a test. A test we will fail if we don’t get rid of it.” 

“How can a bottle of wine be a test?”

“For the court, that’s low end. It might be expensive to the general public, but the Empress can afford better than this. Being served that bottle is an insult. They want to see if we’ll notice - it’s the Orlesian’s way of seeing how ‘cultured’ we are.”

Cullen stared at her, dumbfounded, then rubbed at his temples. 

“I hate Orlais,” he groaned.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Silence filled the air between them, still wrapped in each other’s arms. After what felt like ages, Evelyn breathed deeply, releasing a long sigh as she smoothed out the shoulders of his jacket.

“Promise me you’ll still like me after tonight.”

“Of course I’ll still like you. Why wouldn’t I?” Cullen looked at her quizzically, but she avoided his gaze.

“You’re going to see a side of me you’ve never seen. I’m afraid you’ll hate it. The woman I have to be tonight is who I was raised to be. She’s as much a part of me as this mark on my hand. I wish I could say I didn’t care for her, and that it was just a mask, but it’s not true. I prefer to just be Evelyn, of course, but sometimes I have to be Lady Trevelyan, and I don’t want you to hate me for it. I don’t even know if I’m making any sense.”

She dropped her head unceremoniously into Cullen’s chest. Thankfully, he wrapped her against him even tighter and pressed a kiss onto her head.

“I’d never think less of you. I like every part of you. You don’t ever have to worry about that.”

“Promise?”

“I swear to you, Evelyn Trevelyan, I will still like you at the end of the night.”

Evelyn was smiling again. “Even with all of my noble nonsense?”

“I’ll get on my knees and swear it again, if you like.”

“A tempting offer.”

“I thought you might like that.” He smirked and kissed her again, and Evelyn truly considered forgetting about attending the ball altogether. The idea was crushed by a knock on the door.

“Inquisitor, are you still in there?” Leliana’s voice called. Evelyn was certain she was grinning on the other side of the door. “We need to get you dressed, we’ll be leaving soon.”

“I’ll be there in just a moment,” Evelyn replied, hearing Leliana’s footsteps retreat down the hall. She turned back to Cullen, remembering her purpose in coming here. “Can you behave and wear this for one night?” He pulled her to him again, making her laugh.

“I think you’ve ruined any chances of behaving, but I’ll wear it,” he said between kisses.

“Find me when the night is over?”

“Always.”

After one more indulgent kiss she grabbed the wine and left, glancing back at him as she shut the door behind her. She leaned against it for a moment as she regained her composure, then returned to her room. She would treasure the stolen moments when she could. Now, it was time to impress the court.

“Inquisitor, come!” Josephine said, guiding her back to her seat at the vanity. “We haven’t a lot of time.”

“Cullen has agreed to wear the uniform for the night. I can’t promise he won’t complain about it, but I’ve managed to keep him dressed.”

“I was expecting the opposite result, in all honesty,” Leliana teased, and Evelyn playfully swatted at her. The Spymaster jumped out of the way with ease and took up position behind Evelyn with hair pins once again. She then began the process of twisting her hair into a dramatic updo. 

“I found another bottle,” Evelyn said, passing it to Josephine. She sighed heavily, then waved down a servant in the hall and asked that something else be sent to Cullen’s room before returning to Evelyn.

“Our actions tonight will leave a lasting impression on the Orlesian court,” she said. “Though our main goal is to save the Empress, we cannot ignore formalities. You will be expected to dance and socialize, and failure to do so could have terrible repercussions with the court.” Evelyn caught Josephine’s restless pacing behind her through the mirror as Leliana jabbed a pin into her scalp. Though Evelyn said nothing, Leliana felt her wince and adjusted the pin’s placement. 

“I understand. I’ll be fine, Josie. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sure you know how to handle _most_ nobility, but The Game is nothing like the Free Marches intrigues. It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol. Every gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness.”

“I’ll keep my guard up. Don’t worry.”

“The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. _Never_ reveal your cards. When you meet the Empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you.” Josephine echoed Vivienne’s earlier words, who nodded approvingly. “You were safer staring down Corypheus.”

“You’re just full of joy and light this evening!” Evelyn teased. “I’ll remind you that this isn’t my first Orlesian ball.”

“Of course, Inquisitor. And it comforts me to know you survived the last one in good social standing.”

“I- Did you _check up on me?”_

“Of course not!” Josephine exclaimed. “Leliana did.”

“I found some fun things, too,” Leliana grinned as Evelyn whipped around to glare at her. Luckily, her bun stayed in place. “Apparently you were a delight to everyone you spoke to. The gentleman you wound up in a corner with had especially nice things to say.”

“We were _sixteen!_ ”

“Regardless, we didn’t need to cover anything up. You did well, and it’s been so long that we seem to have a fresh start.”

“I’ll have you know I got a marriage proposal out of that.”

“I don’t doubt it. Just try to avoid a repeat tonight - Cullen doesn’t seem to be the corner type, anyway.”

“You’re incorrigible.” 

Leliana propped herself on a stool in front of her and started on her makeup.

“It was useful to know how charming you can be. You’ll need it.” While she worked, Vivienne pulled Evelyn’s outfit from the wardrobe - an ensemble likely to be rivaled only by the Empress herself. 

Once dressed, Evelyn placed a silk kerchief into her breast pocket. Silly though it was, it was one of the few sentimental items she had brought from Ostwick, and she felt better about facing the court while wearing it. She was then left alone with Josephine as the others went in ahead. The Ambassador would follow Evelyn in with the honor guard. 

“Everything will be fine,” she said, more for her own sake than Evelyn’s as she shut the door behind her. As they started toward the courtyard, Evelyn caught another phrase muttered under Josephine’s breath.

“Andraste watch over us all.”

***

The ball hadn’t even started yet, and Cullen already hated everything about it. 

Snobby nobles put on heirs and complained about everything to prove they were better than everyone else. Elven servants rushed through the crowds of people who paid them no mind unless it was to sneer insults. Everything from the music, to the wine, to the decor was overdone, and he hadn’t even made it past the vestibule (a word he had learned from overhearing an intense debate over whether this constituted as a vestibule or a foyer). He couldn’t even begin to explain his hatred for the masks.

He tugged at his collar for what felt like the thousandth time. Though Evelyn had insisted it looked right - even suggested she enjoyed his current appearance- he was still very much uncomfortable. For her, however, he would have to endure.

Cullen would have given anything to be back in the tent with her. Never had he experienced the happiness that waking up to her sleeping on his chest had brought. He only hoped they might share a tent again on their journey back to Skyhold.

As it was, he was stuck in the palace for the evening, and her brief visit was the only thing that had made this slightly more bearable. She had stood before him in a robe and slippers, hair still damp from the bath. The sight was so domestic that it gripped him by the heart as he dared to imagine the possibility of a future.

“I hope she gets here soon,” Cassandra said, interrupting his thoughts. “The sooner we go in, the sooner we can get this over with.”

“And the sooner I can take off this ridiculous outfit.” He tugged again, but it was useless. “I need to have this jacket let out a little.”

They didn’t have to wait long. When Evelyn ascended the final stairs of the vestibule on the arm of Grand Duke Gaspard, he was certain his heart had stopped. 

She wore a garment that sat somewhere between a jacket and a gown, a silhouette that he could only describe as being most similar to her prowler armor. It was of the same red material the rest of the Inquisition wore, the fabric parting at the front to reveal trousers made of swirling black velvet. She was adorned with golden buttons and embroidery, as well as the blue sash, though on her they looked both feminine and stately. The skirts billowed behind her as she walked, leaving both trousers and black boots clearly visible. The boots reached her thighs, the tops lined in fabric and embroidered in gold. Her hair had been twisted into an elegant bun, and a few curled pieces fell to frame her face. Most notably, a golden circlet sat at her forehead featuring a sunburst any Andrastian would recognize. While it was much smaller than those depicted by the Chantry, the rays not reaching above her forehead, it was clearly Andraste’s crown.

She was breathtaking. A silk gloved hand was tucked in the crook of Gaspard’s arm and she laughed too brightly at something he had said. Stupid though he knew it was, Cullen twinged with jealousy. The feeling was short-lived, however, as the Grand Duke gave her a polite bow and parted ways to greet some of the other guests. 

“Things are going smoothly so far,” Evelyn said as she reached them. “Are you alright?”

She looked pointedly at Cullen, who realized he had been staring quite rudely. He felt the blush rise in his cheeks as he rubbed at his neck.

“You look absolutely stunning.”

Evelyn smiled shyly and fiddled with her glove. “Are you sure it’s alright? I told Josie it was too much. I tried to refuse the circlet, but she insisted. She wanted to make a statement.”

“It’ll make a statement, that’s for certain.” 

They had both forgotten Cassandra was there until she spoke, and Cullen’s blush deepened. Evelyn, for her part, took the reminder to regain her composure.

“How is everything on your end?” she asked.

“It will take some time to get our men into the palace. I’ll alert you when we’re ready. I only wish they hadn’t insisted our party enter unarmed,” Cullen said.

“I managed to hide a few daggers on me, if you end up needing one.”

“Where?” he asked, incredulous.

Evelyn grinned wickedly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before he could question it further, Gaspard had returned, cutting off all further discussion.

“Grand Duke Gaspard,” Evelyn said, welcoming his approach. “May I have the pleasure of introducing Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Commander Cullen Rutherford.”

“The pleasure is mine. It is an honor to meet such esteemed members of the Inquisition.”

“Likewise,” Cassandra said with a nod. Cullen mimicked her gesture, despising every second.

“My Lady, are you ready to shock the court by walking into the Grand Ballroom with a hateful usurper? They will be telling stories of this into the next age.”

“I can’t imagine that crowd has seen anything better than us in their entire lives,” Evelyn smiled.

“You are a woman after my own heart, My Lady.” Gaspard offered her his arm once again. “We are keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor. Shall we?” 

Cullen felt the twinge once again as she accepted. He sighed heavily, then followed Cassandra into the ballroom.

  
  



	17. Wicked Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: sexual harassment (as seen in game)

“And now presenting Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons and, accompanying him, Lady Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick!”

A hush fell over the ballroom as Evelyn followed Gaspard down the steps. The silence soon turned to low murmurs that hung in the air as Evelyn lowered herself into a graceful bow. 

_Not too low. Not too long. You are not here to befriend the floor._

The old lessons in etiquette were ingrained in her, no more separate than her eyes or hair. It happened without thought, the easy grace coming effortlessly.

“A Marcher? The Maker has an odd sense of humor.”

“Absurd!”

“Shh!”

_Mystery is your friend. Give them nothing._

Evelyn started down the steps and reclaimed Gaspard’s arm.

“Vanquisher of the Rebel Mages of Ferelden, Crusher of the Vile Apostates of the Mage Underground…”

“Remember to smile.” Vivenne whispered behind her. “This is all for show, my dear.” Evelyn didn’t need the reminder. Though different from the ones worn by the Orlesians, she wore a mask of her own.

“...Champion of the Blessed Andraste herself!”

“Did you see their faces?” Gaspard chuckled, leaning toward her ear. “Priceless.”

_Chin up. Shoulders back. Even strides._

“Accompanying the Inquisitor, Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena-”

“Get on with it!” Cassandra groaned. Despite being behind her, Evelyn could feel Josephine’s glare of warning to the Seeker.

“-Pentaghast, Fourteenth cousin to the King of Nevarra, nine times removed. Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of the Divine! Madame Vivienne, First Enchanter of the Circle of Magi, Enchanter of the Imperial Court, Mistress of the Duke of Ghislain! Lord Dorian Pavus, member of the circle of Vyrantium, son of Lord Magister Halward Pavus of Asariel!”

Yet another frenzy of whispers at the presence of a Tevinter mage at court. Evelyn had anticipated this, but Dorian insisted he would be fine, saying the gossip would only make it more fun to charm them all by the end of the night.

“Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, Commander of the Forces of the Inquisition, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall!”

A flurry of emotions surged through Evelyn’s stomach as she forced herself not to turn around. Cullen was already uncomfortable - this formal presentation would likely be too much for him. 

Yet he was _here._

She knew he had no choice. It wasn’t as if he had come only for her, but here he was in _her_ world. Miserably braving it, perhaps, but here all the same. Might he be willing to brave it again, in different circumstances? 

Evelyn crushed the thought before she could consider it too deeply. Now was not the time for domestic daydreams. She didn’t need to meet the Empress while blushing like a fool.

“Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court, Veteran of the Fifth Blight, Seneschal of the Inquisition, and Left Hand of the Divine! And Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City, Ambassador of the Inquisition!”

Evelyn’s companions stopped just behind her as she and Gaspard climbed the small, ornate staircase across the ballroom. The Empress stood above them in a deep blue dress, with what appeared to be shining golden wings attached at the back.

“Cousin. My dear sister,” Gaspard greeted as he and Evelyn released each other.

“Grand Duke. We are always honored when your presence graces our court.” The Empress curtsied, her hands held in front of her as though floating in water.

“Don’t waste my time with pleasantries, Celene. We have business to conclude.”

“We will meet for the negotiations after we have seen to our other guests.”

Gaspard lowered into an exaggerated bow, and with a final, “Inquisitor,” headed off into the crowd.

“Lady Inquisitor,” the Empress smiled, “We welcome you to the Winter Palace. Allow me to present my cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible.”

“What an unexpected pleasure,” the Duchess said with a low curtsy. “I was not aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities! We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn bowed her head as the Duchess disappeared behind Celene and joined the other guests.

“Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a summer’s day.”

“I am delighted to be here, Your Majesty.”

“We have heard much of your exploits, Inquisitor. They have made grand tales for long evenings. How do you find Halamshiral?”

“I have no words to suffice,” Evelyn smiled. “Halamshiral has many beauties, and I couldn’t do them justice.”

“Your modesty does you credit, and speaks well for the Inquisition. Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom, Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance.”

Evelyn bowed once again, then ascended the stairs on the left to the upper level of the ballroom. Her companions followed suit, then dispersed as planned. 

“Inquisitor, a word when you have a moment.” Leliana was gone as quickly as she had appeared, leaving Evelyn alone in the crowd. 

“May I offer you a drink, Your Worship?” 

Evelyn turned to find a skittish looking Elven servant. She trembled before her, holding out a tray of crystal glasses filled with sparkling wine. They shook precariously. 

“I would love one. Thank you.” She fixed the elf with her warmest smile as she accepted a glass, but it didn’t seem to help. The servant bowed low and then scurried back through the crowd. 

Evelyn scanned the room for other servants. They scrambled through the ballroom, but were few and far between. All seemed to rush about anxiously, and there were certainly not enough of them for an event as large as this. 

Something wasn’t right, but Evelyn couldn’t investigate it here. She tucked the information away in her mind, then began her journey back across the room - it simply wouldn’t do to be seen alone for too long.

“Josephine! Oh, Josephine! Is this her?” 

Evelyn found Josephine standing by the banister with a bubbly young woman. The Ambassador sighed, gesturing to her companion as she approached.

“Inquisitor, please allow me to present to you my younger sister, Yvette Gabriella Montilyet.”

“There can never be too many Lady Montilyets in Thedas, can there?” Evelyn winked. Josephine gave a wry smile and shook her head as Yvette giggled.

“If you intend to be this charming all evening, perhaps I needn’t have worried.”

“The night is still young.”

“Inquisitor!” Yvette exclaimed, bouncing with excitement, “I’ve heard so much about you, but not as much as I want. Josephine writes, but she never _tells_ me anything. Is it true rebel mages in Redcliffe were performing blood rites and orgies before you stopped them?”

“Where did you hear such nonsense?” Josephine scoffed.

“Everyone in Antiva says so! Is it true?”

“Of course. Every word. Especially the parts where everyone was nude.” Evelyn’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I _knew_ it!”

“Must you encourage her?” Josephine groaned. Evelyn was unperturbed.

“Tell me about yourself, Lady Yvette. This is the first time I’ve encountered any of Josephine's family.” 

“She would forget to mention the artist! I’ve been studying painting under Antiva’s Royal tutors. You should be proud, Josie! I’m going to be exhibiting my work next season in the city’s biggest salon.”

“Have you actually sat down and finished a painting yet?” Josephine asked.

“I must wait for my inspiration!”

“And _I_ must wait for your tutor’s bills.”

Evelyn sipped her wine. “Are you both enjoying the ball?”

“I see many-” Josephine began, but was interrupted by Yvette.

“The dancing is so dull, Your Worship! But the Empress’s gallery is _magnificent!”_

 _“Yvette,”_ Josephine warned.

“Sorry, Josie.”

“Go on, Josephine,” Evelyn said.

“Half Val Royeaux must be empty, so many of the empire’s finest are in attendance. They’ve noticed the Empress paying you special attention, but they don’t quite know how to take advantage of it yet. This uncertainty won’t last long, I’m afraid.”

“Noted. Let me know if you find anything useful.” She turned her attention back to the younger of the sisters. “This may be my only chance to hear about when Josephine was a girl,” she asked innocently, delighting in Josephine’s horrified expression.

“Oh, yes! Has she told you about the time when she was ten and-”  
  
“Yvette. _Stop.”_

“Fine,” Yvette pouted. “What about when we were climbing the cliffs by the-”

“No.”

“She once told the Duke of-”

_“Absolutely not!”_

“She still plays with her doll collection when no one’s looking!”

 _“Yvette!”_ Josephine screeched. “That’s… absurd! Absolutely preposterous!”

Yvette snickered, and Evelyn took the opportunity to escape before Josie could scold her for instigating.

“I’ll see you later.”

“ _Behave._ ”

Evelyn chuckled and turned on her heel, continuing her trek through the ballroom. It took her a while, as she was stopped a few times to toast and chat with the nobility, but eventually she made it to where Vivienne was just parting ways with another guest.

“You’ve done well so far,” she said, clinking her glass against Evelyn’s. “Keep it up. Remember, my dear, this is war.” Evelyn nursed another small sip, determined to make her one glass last as long as possible. If she finished it, it would only be a moment before she was forced to accept another, and accidentally getting drunk would not make her job any easier.

“You wear a mask, just as they do,” Vivienne continued, scanning the crowd. “Who you are as a daughter, a lover, a friend are very different people from the Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste. Carefully choosing which to show, and to whom, is how you’ll survive this night. Don’t forget it.” 

“It seems like you enjoy this, Vivienne.”

Vivienne laughed. “This is The Game, Inquisitor! _Of course_ I enjoy it. If I didn’t, I’d be dead by now.” Evelyn moved to Vivienne’s side, allowing them both a full view of the room.

“Any advice for navigating the ballroom?” she asked.

Vivienne lowered her voice, but smiled as though they were discussing summer plans at the Duke’s chateau. “Speak to the Council of Heralds. Six of them are here tonight. The seventh member of the council is… _indisposed.”_ Evelyn cocked a brow, but didn’t ask. It wasn’t worth the risk with so many prying ears. “His absence will complicate the negotiations. The Council are the highest ranking players of The Game. They see everything. They might know something we can use.”

 _“You must dance with the Dowager…”_ Evelyn quoted, her eyes landing on the older woman. They could overhear her loudly lamenting the loss of her ninth husband.

“You _have_ been well taught, haven’t you?” Vivienne grinned. “Be careful when you approach her. Lady Mantillon is The Game in the flesh. The sight of you near her may give our dear Ambassador a conniption.”

“Josephine’s won’t be the only conniption the sight induces, if I have anything to say about it.”

“Make me proud, darling.”

From where she stood, Evelyn saw Leliana slip out of the ballroom. She glanced at Vivienne, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Be ready to act when I give the signal.”

“Always, my dear.”

Evelyn took her leave, following the Spymaster into the vestibule. Luckily, she wanted to be found. Evelyn spotted her quickly.

“Good. I was hoping I would catch you,” Leliana said, falling into step beside her and leading her toward a somewhat secluded sofa. “What did the Duke say?”

“He points the finger at Ambassador Briala,” Evelyn replied. Gaspard had said as much in the courtyard on their way in. His words were plain, with no room for misinterpretation. “And there’s more. The servants are acting strange. I can’t say for sure if there’s a connection, but I can’t ignore it either. The elves know something, though I doubt they’ll talk to me.”

“I’ll look into it. The Ambassador is up to something, but she can’t be our focus. The best place to strike at Celene is from her side. Empress Celene is fascinated by mysticism - foreseeing the future, speaking with the dead, that sort of rubbish. She has an ‘occult advisor’ - an apostate who charmed the Empress and key members of the court as if by magic. I’ve had dealings with her in the past. She is capable of anything.”

“You think she’s controlling the minds of the court? That’s powerful blood magic!” Evelyn whispered intensely. “Why didn’t you tell me this in the war room?”  
“I didn’t suspect her until we arrived. The last time I was at court, she was merely Celene’s pet. No one cared for her, they just enjoyed the drama. Now she has secured powerful friends. It’s a very… _abrupt_ change. She’s worth investigating. Can’t be sure of anything here. Both leads point toward the guest wing. It’s a promising place to start. I’ll coordinate with our spies to see if I can find anything better. I will be in the ballroom if you need me.”

“I’ll let you know what I find.”

Evelyn made her way out of the vestibule, the click of her boots on the marble echoing through the nearly empty Hall of Heroes. The whole room glittered with gold in the dim candlelight, and large statues and beautiful artwork decorated the floor and walls. Yvette had been right about one thing - Celene’s taste in art was impeccable. Evelyn had just wandered down to the lower level to take a closer look at a towering statue when a pair of elves rushed in from the guest quarters. 

She pressed herself flat to the wall, silently sliding downward until she was sure she was hidden from sight. The elves didn’t seem to notice.

“The package is in the guest wing. Upper room.”

“The one off the garden? Statuette?”

Evelyn assumed the elf had nodded her response, as she heard no verbal answer. Even so, their footsteps faded from earshot as they passed through the hall and into the vestibule. 

Once again alone, Evelyn crept up the stairs and into the guest wing. She was not incredibly far from where the Inquisition was being housed that evening, and she recognized the hallway from earlier. A gilded lion stood guard over the room on her right, and soft moonlight fell in through the windows as she made her way through the other guests.

“Can you _believe_ the Inquisition filled its ranks with apostates?”

“You just _know_ that will end badly. But, If nothing else, the Inquisition backing Gaspard will make Celene nervous. You know how pious she is. I only wish there was more news coming from the Grand Cathedral.”

“Good news is becoming an increasingly rare commodity.”

“Gaspard is wasting his time. Nothing he does could win over the Council of Heralds now.”

“Shh! It’s _her.”_

Evelyn ignored the gossiping nobles and searched the crowd. Not far from where she stood, a councilman’s vassal shuffled about, his agitation evident even through his golden mask. 

An easy target.

“Philippe should have returned hours ago!” He seethed as she reached him, clearly too irritated to care who heard. “Dallying with some serving girl while I deal with Gaspard’s vitriol!” 

“Awfully selfish of this Philippe, running off to play and leaving you with all the work! You poor thing.” Evelyn batted her lashes and grabbed a glass as another servant passed with a tray of sparkling wine, handing it to him good naturedly. He puffed out his chest as he accepted it, attempting to seem more important than he actually was.

“I’ve half a mind to inform the Dowager. That would teach him to shirk his duties to roll some elven maid! Tonight, of all nights, leaving me to convey Gaspard’s death threats to the Council! Wonderful timing, Philippe!”

“How terribly unfair! To put an honorable gentleman such as yourself in that _position_...”

Her feigned horror seemed to please the vassal, who smiled, then held up his glass for a toast.  
“Thank you for listening to me rant. You are too kind, Inquisitor.” She clinked her glass yet again. “Sadly, I must go and inform the Council, though your warmth has brought me courage. Adieu, Inquisitor. Perhaps we shall speak again.” He placed a kiss upon her gloved knuckles and departed. Evelyn suppressed the urge to down the rest of her glass. 

“Well, well. The _Inquisitor.”_

She turned, taking in the nobleman before her. She recognized him from long ago, the condescending tone of voice hard to misplace.

“Duke Germain,” she greeted.

“I see you are no longer the young girl I met in Ostwick, _Your Worship.”_ He looked her over, analyzing every detail with uncomfortable deliberateness. Evelyn met him with sharp eyes.

“I’ve not been a girl for some time.”

“So I see. And here as a guest of my nephew, no less. How curious.”

“The Grand Duke has been a most gracious host.”

The Duke laughed contemptuously.

“Gracious? Hardly! Threatening the whole Council! He is my brother’s eldest boy. Always a difficult child, Gaspard. Never listened, never did what he was told. He was raised a prince. All his life, we told him he would be emperor. It was his destiny. His _duty._ What else should he do with his life, if not fight for his destiny? Gaspard’s actions are hardly unpredictable. My niece on the other hand…” He shook his head. “Florianne hasn’t spoken to me all evening. That’s not like her.”

Being a master of hiding from her family herself, Evelyn almost had to admire the Duchess. Now, however, was not the time to say so.

“It is a great deal of work to put together a gathering such as this. I’m sure she’ll pay you a visit soon.”

“Perhaps,” he sighed. “Still, there is business to be done. A pleasure to see you again, Inquisitor.” 

“My Lord.” 

With a nod, Duke Germain started off toward the ballroom, and Evelyn was left once again alone in the crowd. 

_Bastard._

She sighed, then remembered her original purpose in coming here. Glancing around, she located the door to the garden, and was just heading there when a glint caught her eye. Further down the hall, dark liquid streaked the floor. It pooled in some places, shining under the light of the crystal chandeliers. 

Evelyn strode through the room, smiling and greeting as she went. Her suspicions were confirmed as the metallic scent of blood reached her nose.

But whose?

The trail led further down the hall and then rounded a corner. Yet another pair of elves whispered in the shadows as Evelyn busied herself pretending to read a plaque.

“He hasn’t made the pickup. It’s been hours,” one elf whispered nervously.

“He went into the servants’ wing. Nobody’s come out of there all night.”

“I’ll tell Briala we have a situation.”

They scampered off, running right past Evelyn without so much as a glance. In their rush, a small object clattered to the floor, unnoticed by either. 

_Interesting._

The small cylinder seal popped open easily with a bit of pressure. Evelyn set her unfinished wine with the other dirty glasses and unrolled the scroll inside, quickly scanning its contents. 

_Clara - kitchen staff - entered servants’ wing by main stair 1:30_

_Vernon - undergardener - entered servants’ wing from hall 2:45_

_Sophie - chamber maid - entered servants’ wing from hall 3:22_

_Marius - footman - entered servants wing by main stair 3:45_

_Briala, we need_ _immediate_ _support down there. Something’s gone wrong._

Evelyn stuffed the note into a pocket. Oddly, the blood trail ran cold on either end, stopping before it could lead her anywhere. Whatever was going on here was somehow connected to the package above the garden, and so Evelyn decided to head there first. 

“My Lady! My Lady Inquisitor!”

Three women in matching green dresses curtsied in greeting as Evelyn stepped into the garden. “May we have a word? It is very important. The Empress has sent us with a message for you.”

Celene’s Ladies in Waiting, then. Evelyn nodded politely. “I’m always honored to hear from Her Majesty.”

“Oh, _she_ is the honored one, Inquisitor! Empress Celene is eager to assist the Herald of Andraste in her holy endeavor. She will pledge her full support to the Inquisition as soon as the usurper Gaspard is defeated.”

Evelyn’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly. What had caused Celene to show her hand so early, she wondered? Regardless, the terms were clear. 

“That’s a generous offer.”

“The Empress believes wholeheartedly that the Inquisition is our best hope for peace in these difficult times. She looks forward to cementing a formal alliance... as soon as Gaspard is out of the way. But we have taken enough of your time. Please, enjoy the masquerade, Inquisitor.”

Another curtsy and they were gone, slipping past Evelyn back inside the palace. Evelyn looked about, eyes eventually setting on a large door on the upper level of the garden. That had to be her destination, but there were no stairs to reach it. A tall white trellis scaled the wall, and while it would be easy to climb it, Evelyn was certain Josephine would kill her. Considering her options, Evelyn wandered the garden, hoping to find another solution. 

She tossed a handful of gold into the fountain courtyard’s fountain as she considered her options. The ostentatious display seemed to please the nobles, knowing not that Josephine had put the coins in her pockets for this sole purpose. A few scathing remarks about blood mage magisters led her straight to Dorian, who was downing the last of his wine.

“This is all so familiar. I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd and criticize my manners.”

“I know the feeling,” Evelyn said, relieved to talk to someone who wasn’t likely to poison her. “I’m sure I’ve already ‘irreparably damaged’ the reputation of House Trevelyan tonight.”

“Oh, please! All I’ve heard is how lovely and charming the Inquisitor is all evening. I would avoid the ballroom, if I were you. You’ll never escape the dance floor. And I’ve heard of at least three people determined to bed you before the night is out.”

“See? Scandalous. How dare I incite such unchaste behavior!”

Dorian snorted. “It seems our mothers would get along.”

“And if _your_ mother were actually here? Where would we be then?”

“Short one mage, after he’s dragged out by his earlobe.”

“I’m having some difficulty picturing that.”

“Picture me a young boy of five years, then. _She_ certainly always has.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Evelyn grinned. “I appreciate that you were willing to come here.”

“And expose myself to all this exquisite finery and exotic wines?” Dorian joked. “Such hardship!”

“Not everyone’s likely to be friendly, that’s all I meant.”

“It’s _court._ When is it ever friendly? Though it’s true - you’d think I smelled of cabbages, the way they wrinkle their noses. It’s of no concern, but thank you.”

“Would you like me to blackmail anyone into disgrace for you?”

“Tempting! I’ll let you know.”

“Please do,” Evelyn smirked. “Have you seen anything yet?”

“So far, this seems like harmless political intrigue. A few murders arranged, some scandals contrived from nothing.” He sighed. “Like a homecoming, honestly.”

“Is this how the elite of Tevinter carry on?”

“You could almost mistake this for a soiree in the Imperium. The same double-dealing, elegant poison, canapés… It’s lacking only a few sacrificial slaves and some blood magic,” he said with a shrug. “But the night _is_ still young. What about you? Have you found something?”

“Yes, actually, but I can’t tell you here. I’ll fill you in later. For now, I need a favor.”

“Color me intrigued. What can I do for you?”

“You see that door up there?”

“My dear Inquisitor, you are looking _lovely_ as ever!” He took her hand and twirled her, using the motion as an excuse to turn around and find the door in question. 

“I see it,” he said, low enough that only she could hear.

“I need to get in, but the only way up is up the lattice. I need a distraction.”

Dorian laughed loudly. “Oh, Inquisitor, don’t worry! I’m sure nobody wants to hear the tale of how you and I single-handedly rescued Redcliffe from a Tevinter cult!” 

At this, the attention of those in the courtyard piqued, and Evelyn schooled her face into a look of warning and lowered her voice to a whisper.

“Don’t forget the blood rites and orgies. _Everyone_ in Antiva already knows about those.”

“I wouldn’t dare. Though I might need more wine for this. The spicy punch isn’t as strong as it seems.” Evelyn grabbed a fresh glass from a servant and handed it to him.

“Try not to get _too_ drunk while I’m gone,” she said.

“You ask _so_ much of me.”

Evelyn pretended to leave the courtyard, waiting in the doorway just long enough for Dorian to captivate his audience before slipping behind. She didn’t have a lot of time, but this would have to do.

“...knee deep in water, but the cultists didn’t seem to care. I shielded the Herald’s eyes from their glistening, wet, naked bodies - she’s a pious thing, you see - and-” 

Evelyn swallowed her laughter as she reached the back of the courtyard. She tested her weight on the trellis, satisfied when it seemed to hold. She crept up silently, then disappeared into the shadows. 

She first went straight ahead, slipping through one of the large blue doors and into a room filled with six pedestals, each topped with a large golden urn. The walls were lined with statues and bookcases. Evelyn made her way immediately to the far wall.

At some point in recent years, it had come into fashion to hide levers and keys in everyday objects. By far the most popular of these contraptions was the bookcase - Evelyn had even had one in their family home back in Ostwick - and so it was of no surprise to her when she pulled a suspicious looking book and a door slid open.

The back room was dark, save for one veilfire torch burning on the wall. Once her eyes adjusted, Evelyn could make out all sorts of arcane objects and knicknacks. A desk sat in the center, upon which perched skulls both human and animal, an open letter in between.

_Lady M,_

_I need you at my side tonight. The unpleasantness in the royal wing has convinced me there is no safety within the palace. I do not expect my cousin to employ magic, but I would hardly be surprised if he provoked another infestation; since my court enchanter is not here to assist me, I must rely entirely upon you. There is no one else I can trust._

_Celene_

Evelyn pocketed this note as well. Likely, this was the occult advisor Leliana had mentioned. It seemed Celene knew she was in danger, and suspected Gaspard. It was plausible enough, but Evelyn had more leads to follow before she could draw any conclusions.

Useful though this was, it didn’t seem to be the room the elves had spoken of. She slipped back outside and found another door on the right. This one was decorated in Dalish symbols, including a pair of halla at the top, as well as a small, halla shaped hole in the center. For all her lockpicking skills, it wouldn’t budge.

Evelyn searched the balcony, risking a peek down at Dorian, who still had the party goers enraptured in his tale. She raced to the other side in search of any kind of clue, nearly crying out in triumph when she found what she was looking for tucked inside a flower pot.

The statuette was intricately carved and made of sturdy metal. The regal creature stood tall, horns protruding to sharp points as it watched over the palace. Evelyn returned to the door and slid it in the empty slot. The statuette clicked as it locked into place and the door swung wide. 

The metallic smell of blood overwhelmed her as she noticed the bodies of three human men scattered across the floor of the small room. Evelyn stepped carefully around them, reaching to pick up a document that had fallen not far from one of their limp hands.

_Celene,_

_We can discuss this like adults, can't we? We both know the weapon at Briala's disposal could not only turn the tide of our war, but every war. The empire must control it; I do not believe you disagree. She is now a greater threat to Orlais than anything else. If you and I work together, we can wrest control away from her. Do not deceive yourself that she will be open to negotiation or diplomacy. You know her better than anyone—you know that's impossible._

_Gaspard_

Had Briala done this? Evelyn wasn’t certain this letter had ever made it to Celene, it’s messengers corpses now laying at her feet. 

One thing was certain - she needed to get into the servants wing. First, however, she needed to make an appearance in the ballroom. The court would notice if she was missing for too long, and Evelyn needed to pass off her information to Leliana. 

She climbed back down the trellis and slipped back inside just as Dorian finished his story. She made it through without incident, somehow uninterrupted until a voice stopped her just as she was reaching for the ballroom door.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

The woman wore a gown of black and purple, adorned with black lace and feathers. A large necklace sat at her throat, raven hair pulled back with the exception of long bangs that fell over the side of her face. 

“The leader of the new Inquisition, fabled Herald of the Faith, delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of Blessed Andraste herself!”

Though the words were patronizing, Evelyn sensed no ill-will from the woman’s words as her feline eyes looked her over. The corners of Evelyn’s lips tugged upwards at the whole display. It was, after all, quite the show.

“What could bring such an _exalted_ creature here to the Imperial Court, I wonder? Do even _you_ know?”

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Evelyn said. “You know me, but I’m afraid I don’t know you.”

The woman laughed. “Everyone knows _you,_ Inquisitor! I suspect this will be a disadvantage you face for as long as you live.” She nodded, though her mannerisms were less polished than those of the rest of the court. What she lacked in refinement, she made up for in wit. 

“I am Morrigan. Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane.”

“And what do others call you?”

“‘Witch,’ usually.” She gestured for Evelyn to follow, and the two strolled through the hall, guests glancing in their direction and leaning their heads together to whisper as they passed.

“You have been very busy this evening, hunting in every dark corner of the palace. Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey?”

“I don’t know,” Evelyn said, settling her hands behind her back. “Do we?”

Morrigan chuckled again. “You are being coy.”

“I’m being careful.”

“Not unwise, here of all places. Allow me to speak first, then. Recently I found, and killed, an unwelcome guest within these very walls. An agent of Tevinter. So I offer you this, Inquisitor: a key, found on the Tevinter’s body. Where it leads, I cannot say. Yet if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. You can,” she said, placing the key into Evelyn’s palm.

“You left Celene alone. Is that wise?”

“I must return to her anon, but she is safe enough… for the moment. ‘Twould be a great fool who strikes at her in public, in front of all her court and the Imperial Guard.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “What’s your interest in protecting Empress Celene?”

“What is yours? If anything were to happen to Celene, eyes would turn first to her “Occult Advisor,” even if they knew otherwise. There are sharks in the water, and I will not fall prey to them. Not now, not ever.”

“Why did you kill the agent? He might have had useful information.”

“I would not have slain the man on sight, had he not attacked me first. Why? Undoubtedly I caught him in an illicit act. I did not know from whence he came until after the battle, and regret only that I could not capture him alive. What intentions the Imperium has here I suspect you know far better than I.”

Evelyn turned the key over in her hand. It’s luster was long worn away from regular use and changing hands. The key to the servants’ quarters, she presumed. 

“I may find the time to try a door or two.” 

“Proceed with caution, Inquisitor. Enemies abound, and not all of them aligned with Tevinter. What comes next will be _most_ exciting.”

She disappeared as quickly as she came, once again leaving Evelyn standing before the door to the ballroom. She tucked the key into her pocket and made her way inside. 

The festivities were in full swing now. People danced jovially to vibrant music or dined at long tables. Evelyn searched for Leliana, who she found watching the scene unfold at the side of the room. 

“Look at Lady Cambienne’s slippers - trimmed with pearls _and_ emeralds? And those buckles! Toss her into a lake and she’ll sink right to the bottom. What a disaster.”

“They _are_ rather tacky,” Evelyn agreed, helping herself to one of the assorted little cakes that sat on a table beside Leliana. “Any excuse for a vulgar display of wealth. You know how it is.”

“But Lady Cambienne’s family has recently lost most of its holdings. They have their title, and little else.”

“Really? What has she done to acquire such a pair of shoes, then?” 

Leliana grinned. “Who has she _bedded?”_

“You’re going to find out by the end of the night, aren’t you?” Evelyn helped herself to a second cake. _“Damn,_ these are good.”

“Of course. But you didn’t come here to talk about shoes, did you?”

“I found some information. Take a look.” She handed the notes over and explained her other findings. “I’ll need to get into the servants’ wing. I’m expecting a fight. Were you able to smuggle in our armor?”

“I was, though it’ll take me a bit to get one of our spies to get it to where you need. I suggest you partake in the festivities in the meantime. You’re making quite an impression, after all. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” Leliana paused, thinking over the information once again. She almost seemed to revel in it. “ _Very_ interesting. We can put this to good use.”

“You’re different, here,” Evelyn commented. “More approachable, perhaps?”

“This is _Halamshiral_ , Inquisitor. This is the Imperial Court. This is the beating heart of The Great Game. Of course everyone is wearing a mask. I learned this very young - I suspect you did as well. I was still a girl when I attended my first ball. All this? The smiles? The small talk? It is a dance. And like any dance, it can be learned. For _some of us…”_ she nodded knowingly at Evelyn, “...it has become so familiar that the steps may be performed in our sleep. For _others…”_

Leliana trailed off, her eyes shifting further down the wall. Evelyn followed her gaze, finally landing on a small group of people. Through the wall of finery, Evelyn could make out a sliver of red trapped within.

“Is that _Cullen?”_

“He’s been popular this evening, unfortunately for him.”

“And you haven’t rescued him?”

“He’ll be fine. They’ll mistake his lack of social grace as Ferelden charm. He’s better off underestimated - the more capable he seems, the more they’ll bother him. If we go in there, things will only get worse for him.”

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Inquisitor, wait!”

It was too late. Evelyn had already taken off, each stride bringing her closer until she was finally within earshot of the group that surrounded him.

“You _must_ dance with me, Commander! You cannot stand about all evening!”

“I’m afraid not, thank you.”

“Smile, Commander! You’re so handsome when you smile!”

“He is just as handsome when he doesn’t.”

“Are you married, Commander?”

“Not yet. But I am… already taken.”

“Still single, then?”

“Did you just… _grab my_ _bottom?”_

Evelyn’s fingers twitched as she reached them, itching for a dagger as her blood boiled. Instead, she breathed deeply, forcing an expression of pleasant neutrality as she made her final strides. Not having noticed her yet, a man leaned to the woman beside him, whispering in Orlesian.

“Tantalising for a Dog Lord, is he not? The things I would do…”

“ _Bonsoir, mon seigneur,”_ Evelyn said. The group stared at her, especially the man who Evelyn now recognized as Marquis Etienne, not having expected her to understand him. 

“Inquisitor! How lovely it is to meet you at last!” He said, switching back to the King’s Tongue, but Evelyn continued on in Orlesian.

“You are Marquis Etienne, if I am not mistaken? I’ve heard you’re a dear friend of Duke Stefan de Firmin.”

“I am humbled that you have heard of me, Your Worship.” Evelyn risked a glance at Cullen, who seemed terribly confused. He would have to wait a moment longer.

“How could I not? I met the Duke and his family at my aunt’s salon last year. They are just _lovely!_ He said his son just _adores_ you.”

The Marquis smiled at the compliment. “Indeed, the young Lord takes to me. He has known me since he was born. His father and I are close friends.”

“The Duke said as much. I must say, the boy could speak of little else. He looks up to you so much, I daresay he’s even starting to _look_ like you! Isn’t that just the funniest thing?”

The Marquis’ face fell behind the mask, his body stiffening as he struggled for words. The others fell to a silent hush and Evelyn took the opportunity to switch back to the King’s tongue.

“So sorry to interrupt and leave so soon, but I’m afraid the Commander and I have some business to discuss. Do enjoy your evening!”

Cullen jumped at the excuse to leave, and Evelyn managed to loop her hand onto his arm in a way that made it look as though he had offered it.

“Don’t walk too fast, keep your eyes forward, and don’t say anything until we’ve left the ballroom.”

Cullen nodded, following directions with the promptness of a soldier. Leliana shook her head as they passed, but said nothing. Soon enough they had escaped into an area of relative privacy out in the vestibule. 

“Are you alright?” she asked finally.

“Yes. I think so. Thank you.” He looked relieved and ran a hand through his hair, accidentally loosening that one unruly curl. “What did you say to the Marquis?”

“I may have insinuated that Duke Stefan de Firmin’s son is actually his.”

 _“Maker’s breath!”_ He rubbed at his eyes with one hand. “Well, if it saved me from another minute with those vultures, I’m thankful for it.”

“Not enjoying the attention then?” 

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Hardly. Anyway, yours…” He paused, clearing his throat. “...yours is the only attention worth having.”

“It’s all yours.”

Cullen blushed furiously, wringing his hands in front of him. Evelyn sensed he wished to reach for her, but it was hardly appropriate to do so here.

“Have you found anything?” he asked.

“I have some leads. I’m at a bit of a stand still for a moment while Leliana moves some supplies. Then my team is coming with me to the servants’ wing.”

“Are you sure I can’t go with you?”

It had already been a discussion. Multiple times. Evelyn’s answer hadn’t changed.

“Cullen, we can’t have the Inquisitor and the Commander missing from the party. It will-”

“Look like an attack, I know. But I’d feel better at your side.”

“I’ll be alright. And there’s no sense in worrying right now. For the time being my job is to navigate the ballroom.”

“That might be more dangerous, all things considered. But at least you’ll be in sight.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll save a dance for me?”

“No. Thank you.”

_“Oh.”_

It was Evelyn’s first slip of the evening - she hadn’t been fast enough to conceal her wounded expression before Cullen caught it. His eyes widened and he stepped toward her, reaching for her hand before dropping his arm again as he remembered where he was.

“No! I didn’t mean to-” He sighed, grasping for words. “Maker’s breath! I’ve answered that question so many times I’m rejecting it automatically.” He risked another step closer, his expression softening as he looked apologetically into her eyes. “I’m not one for dancing. The Templars never attended balls.”

“It’s alright, Cullen. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?”  
  
“I’m sure. I was only trying to cheer you up. I know this is the last place you want to be.”

“It’s only one night. I’ll manage.” 

The palace bells rang, signaling the call back to the ballroom. Cullen put on a brave face but shifted around anxiously.

“Should we go back, then?”

“No, not yet. We can’t rush in as soon as they call or they’ll think we have nothing better to do. Better to be fashionably late.”

Cullen sighed again, this time in pure exasperation. “I hate Orlais.”

Evelyn looked him over, sensing the dread that filled him. Though he insisted otherwise, the group that had accosted him had shaken him. If she could help it, it wouldn’t happen again.

“Cullen, what if I told you there was a way to keep them off of you?” She looked up at him nervously, and Cullen’s brows knit together in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

Evelyn pulled the silken kerchief from her breast pocket, running her thumb over the embroidered lettering. 

_E.T. Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed._

Bold, indeed.

“Did you see any of the noble ladies in Kirkwall with these?”

“Kerchiefs?”

“It’s not _just_ a kerchief. It’s made from house colors, and embroidered with a Lady’s initials and family motto. See?”

She held it out to him, and Cullen looked it over, nodding in understanding.

“I didn’t notice the women with them, but then again I never paid much attention. I did find one among one of the knight’s belongings once. Technically we weren’t supposed to have personal items, but I… uh… let it slide.”

“You? A rule breaker?”

“Not nearly as bad as you.”

Evelyn smiled, then breathed deeply. “Have you heard of a lady’s favor?”

Cullen paused, glancing from the silk in her hands to her face, his mouth slightly ajar. The longer he stared, the hotter her face grew, and she knew she had better get herself together before someone noticed her blush.

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

“I’ve… heard of the tradition, yes. It’s… not widely practiced in Ferelden.”

Evelyn shook her head. “No. But it _is_ in the Free Marches, and is well-recognized in Orlais. Any of those nobles knows what this is. Mine carries a little extra weight, as you might imagine.”

“Evelyn…”

“No one will bother you. They’ll be too afraid to directly insult the Inquisitor. I wanted to give it to you anyway, at a better time, but now it seems a bit more… _useful._ Of course, you don’t _have_ to take it, I understand if walking around wearing a claim from House Trevelyan isn’t something you wish to do, or you could take it and not wear it, it doesn’t really matter-”

“I want it.”

“You do?”

“I would personally tell every member of that court that I’m yours if you’ll let me. This just makes it a bit easier.”

Evelyn beamed. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but his enthusiastic acceptance made cooling her blush a much harder task. 

“Shall I… um... tie it on your arm?”

He nodded, turning to the side to grant her access. She secured it quickly - tight enough to hold, but not squeeze - then stepped back to admire her work.

“How does it look?” he asked, grinning broadly.

“Very dashing, if I do say so myself.”

The bells rang again, and Cullen cocked a brow, looking to her once more.

“Do we go in now?” he asked.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to be rude.”

He followed after her into the ballroom, muttering once again about how much he hated Orlais.

  
  



	18. Wicked Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for violence in this chapter

By the time they returned to the ballroom, more couples had ventured onto the dance floor. The musicians had taken up position at the head of the room, their steady waltz guiding the guests through graceful steps. Dorian rounded the corner, reaching them just as they walked through the doors. He wore an impish grin, and Evelyn’s look of warning did nothing to dissuade him.

“You look different since I last saw you, Commander. Changed your hair, perhaps? No? Well, there must be _something_ … Aha!” He took the end of Evelyn’s kerchief in his fingertips and held it up like a prize won at a harvest festival. Even raised a brow, waiting for the inevitable teasing, while Cullen simply stared at him, unamused.

“A bold move. You’ll be the talk of all Halamshiral for weeks.”

“The subtle warnings weren’t enough, it seems,” Evelyn explained.

“Well, you’ve no doubt broken some hearts - though I don’t think _hearts_ had anything to do with the plans they had for _you._ Turns out your piety has made you a most desired bedmate. _”_ Dorian looked pointedly at Evelyn, looking far too pleased with himself, as Cullen fumed. “Anyway,” he continued, turning to Cullen, “I’ve come to ask if I might take her off your hands for a moment. Just for a dance, of course.” 

“You’re… asking _me?”_ Cullen asked, brows knit in suspicion.

“I am. Since you’ve made it so blatantly obvious that she’s yours.”

“I think it’s the other way around.”

“Well? Do you mind if he takes me?” Evelyn placed a hand on his arm in the greatest display of intimacy she could risk. Josephine would probably kill her for it later, but Cullen seemed to ease a bit at the touch.

“I’ve never seen you ask permission for anything. Are you letting me think I have a choice?” he said with a lopsided grin.

“For the moment, I’m all yours. What do you wish to do with me, Commander?”

Cullen’s gaze passed over her, his lips slightly parted and a flash of darkness in his eyes. It left as quickly as it came, giving way for a bright blush as he seemed to remember he was expected to reply. He tugged once again at his collar and cleared his throat. 

“Of course, Dorian, I… um…” He gestured awkwardly for him to take her, eyes making their way from Dorian, to the floor, and then bashfully met Evelyn’s. “I’ll… see you later?” 

“You will. There’s still work to be done, after all.”

“Right.”

“I saw Cassandra just over there. Perhaps you’d like to join her in the meantime?”

Cullen sighed in relief, pleased that he wouldn’t be left to the sharks once more. 

“That was painful to watch,” Dorian said as Cullen found the Seeker. He offered Evelyn his arm and led her out onto the floor, taking their place among the other couples. “Do you really want the whole court to know? I’m sure they’re already looking for a way to turn this against you.”

“I’m sure they are. But if it keeps them away from him, it will have been worth it. Cullen is brilliant with strategy and blades, but the ball is proving to be a bit much for him.”

“And how many marriage proposals do you think _you’ll_ be receiving tonight?”

“And here I was hoping they might be too afraid of me to try.”

“Always the optimist.”

“Of course I’m an optimist. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“Fair enough.” They bowed to one another as the musicians struck the opening chords. Dorian took her waist and hand, guiding her breezily through the start of an Orlesian waltz. “Did you find anything in the garden?”

“I did,” Evelyn said, lowering her voice, her smile suggesting a much lighter topic of conversation to any onlooker. “Bodies behind a sealed door, as well as letters and documents. Celene believes Gaspard is after her, but Gaspard blames Briala. It’s impossible to tell thus far, but we have a lead. Something is happening in the servants’ quarters, so be ready to move as soon as Leliana moves our armor.”

He twirled her with ease, clean footwork spinning them about as the dance dictated, then passed to a new partner on her right. The masked Orlesian greeted her with gusto, all too pleased to dance with the Inquisitor for a moment before the steps sent her back to Dorian. Their right palms met as they took a turn around one another, then settled back into their closed position.

“The servants’ quarters?” he said, continuing the conversation as though there had been no interruption. “The elves _did_ seem skittish, but I thought it was just the large gathering of terrible people.”

“It seems there’s more to it than that. I also ran into the Empress’s Occult Advisor, Morrigan. She gave me a key. She’s keeping close to Celene to watch for signs of danger.”

“And it’s not possible she’s the assassin?”

“No. Assassinating Celene would do her far more harm than good. I’m sure it isn’t her.”

“I saw Briala enter the ballroom not long ago. I believe she’s out on one of the balconies. Perhaps you should meet with her?”

“I’ll be sure to find her soon.”

The music swelled as the dance separated them again. This time, Evelyn found herself in the arms of none other than the Grand Duke himself.

“How are you enjoying the ball, Inquisitor? You’ve been busily charming the court, I see.” Evelyn heard rather than saw his distaste for the event beneath his mask.

“It’s lovely, though all of this elegance is a little jarring for those of us who have been out in the field doing _real_ work.”

Gaspard threw back his head and laughed. “I _knew_ you were an intelligent woman, Your Worship! Such finery is an insult when you’ve been living on the front lines. You know as well as I the importance of a ruler who leaves the throne behind long enough to _do_ something. One can’t run an empire while never lifting their ass from a cushion.”

“And what of this, My Lord? Does dancing count as field work? Getting off the cushion?”

He chuckled, pulling her in a bit closer to speak quietly in her ear. “ _This_ is The Game, Inquisitor. I couldn’t pass over a chance to dance with such a magnificent woman, even if I would normally say dancing is a waste of time.”

He lingered for just a moment, and Evelyn was acutely aware that she was being used. Gaspard, of course, wished to make use of her growing popularity, and the familiarity presented by the closeness of the gesture stirred whispers and sidelong glances. They missed the passing of partners as Gaspard chose to hold onto her, leaving Dorian with no choice but to swap with the next couple instead. Evelyn felt a pair of eyes boring into her back and, as they turned, she found Cullen, white knuckled and staring after her. 

“Your kind words are appreciated, though I know you didn’t extend this invitation out of the goodness of your heart, Grand Duke,” she said.

“As you might have guessed, I am not the most political man. If the nobles believe the Inquisition supports me, it will help in negotiations. _And…_ ” he smiled, leaning into her ear once more. Evelyn suppressed the urge to recoil from his grasp as she felt his hot breath on the side of her neck. “...I take joy in watching the scandalized expressions when they see us together.”

Gaspard chuckled once again as he resumed a more socially respectable position. There certainly _were_ many scandalized expressions throughout the room, but the expression of a certain Ferelden Commander, clear as day to any onlooker, was the one that concerned her most.

Cullen was furious. He glared at the Grand Duke, face reddening in a way that was far different than his usual blush, jaw clenched as he ground his teeth together. If looks could kill…

“It seems I have upset your Commander,” Gaspard observed. “Surely you will tell him this was all in good fun. I am not so foolish to upset my allies by trying my luck with a taken woman.”

Evelyn almost missed a step - _almost,_ but she caught herself before Gaspard could notice. Or at least, she _hoped_ he hadn’t noticed.

“I’m afraid you are mistaken, My Lord. Ser Rutherford is simply not accustomed to such events. He is far more suited for armor and the outdoors. I’m afraid he’s just a bit uncomfortable.” Her words sounded assured and convincing, but Cullen’s glaring as Cassandra uselessly tried to chastise him was doing her no credit.

“I’ve seen that look many times, and gotten in more duels over it than I care to admit. Perhaps in different circumstances it would be worth it, but we both have more important business this evening, no?”

“We do. But I’d like to know more about you,” Evelyn said quickly. Her tone had been just ambiguous enough - Gaspard’s interest peaked as he tried to decipher whether this was politics or flirtation.

“ _All_ of Orlais knows my story, my friend. But you are far too sensible to be Orlesian.” Evelyn pressed her lips into a smile, allowing him to think his flattery had impressed her. “The heart of it is simple: I am the rightful heir to the throne of Orlais. But my cousin Celene is a politician, while I am a man of action. She charmed the Council of Heralds. They gave the crown to her. And while it looks… _fetching_ on her, I intend to take it back.”

“So you intend to out-negotiate your cousin.”

“It will take heroic effort on my part, Inquisitor. And a lot of brandy. The talks will take most of the evening. Maker willing, we will emerge triumphant.”

Evelyn had not missed his use of the word “we,” and the implications it held, but decided to let it go for now.

“What do you expect will be going on in these negotiations?” she asked.

“We will whittle one another down with words until we are bored into agreement. Celene will talk circles around us, that elf will glower and cast suspicion everywhere, and I will get very drunk. Somehow, by the time they stop serving drinks, a war will be ended. Politics, my friend.” He sighed heavily, his first sign of being human since their arrival. Evelyn didn’t miss the opportunity.

“What calamities befall us if they stop serving drinks early?” she teased. The Grand Duke smiled. It was the first genuine one she had seen from him.

“If we’re lucky? Another war will break out.” He laughed heartily. “I cannot abide The Game, my friend. I prefer my enemies armed and facing me. I like clear winners and losers. Give me a battlefield, Inquisitor! I will show you who the victors are! When I am Emperor, there will be changes - no more of this courtier’s nonsense. The nobles may not like it, but after a few lose their heads, they’ll fall in line. Then, I’ll take action.”

“What sort of action did you have in mind?”

“The Empire is declining. We cannot allow Nevarra and Ferelden to chip away our borders. I will see Orlais return to glory as the strongest nation in Thedas.”

“You intend to return to Expansionism.” 

“I like to solve problems in the simplest manner, my friend.”

Endless war. 

_That_ was Gaspard’s plan. Just when Evelyn was certain she couldn’t be more disgusted with the man, he found another way to horrify her. If she was sure of nothing else that evening, she was certain of this: Gaspard could not be allowed to gain the throne.

“We’ll speak later, Duke Gaspard,” Evelyn said as the couples switched once more. Gaspard bowed as they returned to their original partners. Dorian gracefully caught her hand, guiding her back into place as they floated across the floor.

“I don’t like him,” Dorian said simply, spinning her again. Her skirts billowed out in tandem with the other dancers.

“Nor do I. He makes my skin crawl. But that doesn’t guarantee he’s our man.”

“We could kill him anyway,” Dorian suggested with a nonchalant shrug. Evelyn snorted.

“You’re awful!”

“I’m awful? You have an assassin for a personal trainer!”

“I’ll have you know those skills from my ‘personal trainer’ have saved your ass on more than one occasion.”

“Please. I’m too pretty to die,” he teased. “And should I remind you who pulled you out of Redcliffe Castle while you were determined to get yourself killed?”

He had her there.

“Call it even?”

“Fine with me,” Dorian grinned.

They ended the dance with a bow as the musicians struck the final cadence. Evelyn entertained a few more dances among the Orlesian nobility, making small talk and boosting egos, before excusing herself in search of the Ambassador. 

For one rumored to be elusive, she wasn’t difficult to find. The elven woman stood out on a balcony near the rear of the hall, hands perched on the bannister as she looked out over the grounds.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan,” she greeted without turning around. “Slumming more than usual, I see.”

“Ambassador.”

“You’ve charmed some of the nobles. We’ll see how long you can keep their favor. What brings you to me?”

The elven woman finally turned. Her mask and dress were simpler than those of the Orlesian nobility. She had instead dressed for practicality.

It seemed Briala had work to do.

“I was hoping to learn more about you, Briala,” Evelyn said.

“I’m an elf, Inquisitor. That should tell you everything you need to know about my life. I’m good at what I do. That’s all that matters. I will help my people no matter the cost.”

“It tells me a great deal and very little at the same time. How is an elf invited to the Empress’s ball as an Ambassador?”

“Empress Celene and I have… history. There was a time when I put my spies at her disposal. She knows my qualifications. We had a falling out. Now we’re negotiating to determine whether I return to her side in the war.”

“I’m surprised you’d admit that, considering the circumstances.”

“I know it’s incriminating,” the Ambassador replied with a frown. “Few harbor more resentment against Celene than I. But if she died after inviting me here, the court would certainly pin her death on me. An elf assassinating the Empress? Alienages across Orlais - across all _Thedas_ \- would be purged. That cannot happen.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “Your words are sensible, Ambassador, though I don’t recall saying anything about an assassination.”

“I am no fool, Inquisitor. We both know there’s a plot against Celene tonight. You needn’t look hard to find it. Gaspard will stop at nothing until he takes back his throne, and he won’t hesitate to let the elves take the fall. He hates me especially, given my former presence at court.”

“I’ve been told you were romantically involved with the Empress.”

“I didn’t take you for a gossipmonger, Inquisitor,” Briala said.

“Is it true?”

“Would it be so terrible if it was? It is lonely at the top, Your Worship - something it seems you know well. Is your own Commander not warming your bed?”

“My personal affairs are not threatening Empires.”

“Aren’t they?” Briala sighed. “I suppose your spies have already briefed you, so there’s no use pretending. Yes. Celene and I were lovers once. But we’ve gone our separate ways now.” 

“Your honesty is refreshing, Ambassador.”

“As are your direct questions. You’ve played The Game well thus far. We shall see what the court thinks of you at the end of the night.”

A crash of shattering glass hit the floor inside. A drunken couple giggled and called for a servant, nearly slipping on spilled wine. Evelyn shook her head, then returned her attention back to the Ambassador.

“What can you tell me about Celene and Gaspard?” she asked. Briala studied her, no doubt deciding how much to tell.

“Gaspard is a warmonger. He served in the war against Ferelden and fought a dozen skirmishes on the Nevarran border. He’s a simple man. Simple men aren’t hard to manipulate. Celene is the voice of reason in the Empire. But reason is cautious. Reason looks for compromise. Reason doesn’t choose radical change - however sorely it may be needed.”

“Inquisitor, do you have a moment?” Evelyn turned to find Leliana standing behind her, drink in hand. “Ambassador,” she greeted.

“Lady Nightingale. It’s been a while.”

“Another time, Ambassador,” Evelyn said, excusing herself.

“Inquisitor.”

“If your goal was to get the entire court talking about you and Cullen, you’ve succeeded,” Leliana said once they were out of earshot. 

“My goal was to keep them from harassing him. It seems good news travels fast.”

“They’re still deciding how best to use this information. There’s also quite a bit of debate over whether or not this was a genuine gesture of affection, or a genius move in The Game. Regardless, they’ll make their moves eventually, but I doubt they’ll be so free with him now that the entire court knows the Inquisitor’s eyes are on him. It’s the greatest gossip of the evening.”

“My parents are going to love this,” Evelyn sighed. Since her sole focus had been rescuing Cullen, she had foolishly forgotten that gossip spreads. News was bound to reach Ostwick sooner or later, but that would have to be tomorrow’s problem. “I get the impression that’s not why you came to find me.”

“Your armor has been stowed just inside the door to the servants’ quarters. You’ll have to be quick, but we should be able to buy you enough time to take your party and investigate. I’ve already sent the others out ahead of you.” 

Leliana tucked the key into Evelyn’s palm, who then slipped it into a pocket before anyone could notice the exchange.

“Shall I meet them now?”

“Yes. Don’t be long.”

They parted ways at the ballroom doors, Leliana returning to schmoozing the nobility while Evelyn made her way back to the Hall of Heroes. Sadly, she found it wasn’t empty.

“Did you see that knife-eared serving girl in the kitchen? The ginger?” The guard stood with a comrade, blocking the door to the trophy room.

“Keep talking. I’m starting to believe I was there.”

“I need to get one of those.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Gentlemen,” Evelyn greeted, hiding her disgust with a well-practiced smile.

“Is it true, what they say?” One of the guards asked. “You’re the Inquisitor, are you not?”

“We’ve heard stories of your accomplishments!”

“I’d wager I have better stories than anything you’ve heard.” Her answer seemed to please them.

“I told you, Philippe!”

“Not everyone fights an archdemon and lives to tell! It’s an inspiration.”

“If you’d like, Commander Cullen can give you all the details of that battle,” she offered. “He’s in the ballroom.” 

“Really? But… I shouldn’t leave my post.”

“You’d only be gone a moment.” Evelyn’s tone was light and personable, so honeyed that it was impossible to argue.

“Philippe, the world is coming to an end. If we don’t hear this story now, we’ll never have a chance.” The other guard (Philippe, she presumed) seemed pleased, having put up just enough of an argument to say he tried.

“You’re right! Thank you, Inquisitor! Let’s go.”

Evelyn watched after them, hoping this interaction wouldn’t pain Cullen too terribly. With any luck, he might actually enjoy a brief discussion on battles and tactics, something far more within his realm than dancing and social grace.

Once alone, she slipped into the trophy room, careful to leave the door cracked just enough to see if anyone approached. The walls were lined with stuffed furs and beasts hunted by nobles and poachers for sport, their glass eyes following her as Evelyn meandered toward the door at the back.

The room contained a few more mounted furs and a large desk, which Evelyn wasted no time searching. A note was tucked away inside, along with another small halla.

_Philippe,_

_Move in on the western wing when I send you three shots of brandy. Not taking any chances._

_Gaspard_

“Evelyn!”

She whipped around, placing a hand to her heart in relief when she saw it was only Dorian.

“Sorry to startle you,” he said. “We’re ready when you are.”

“I’m ready. Take a look at this.” 

Dorian tooked the note. “Gaspard is looking guiltier by the hour.”

“He’s plotting, but whether it’s murder or something else we can’t be sure.” 

“Hopefully the servants’ wing will shed some light on things.” 

Evelyn pocketed the note and shut the doors behind them. They found Cassandra and Vivienne at the entrance to the wing, still donning the red uniforms.

“Our belongings should be just inside the door,” Vivienne said. “We’re ready when you are, my dear.” 

“We have to be quick. Let’s go.”

Evelyn turned the key in the lock and the four of them slipped inside. As promised, their weapons and armor had been stashed in an unassuming chest to their right. Each stripped off the outer layer of formalwear and strapped on their weapons and armor, the mages finding their staves behind some barrels in the corner. Cassandra tucked their clothes into the chest and locked it with a key Leliana had provided. 

“Everyone ready?” Evelyn asked. With her companions nodded their assent. Then they ventured further in.

That something sinister was going on, there was no question. The bodies of elves littered the ground, their blood pooling on the hard stone floors. Some had been slain in their beds.

“Must be the elves Briala’s people were looking for,” Evelyn said quietly, her gut wrenching. Who could have done such a thing? And why?

Cassandra crouched beside one of the dead to examine the wound. “Stabbed. Someone will pay for this.”

“Let’s keep going. We need to find out who did this.”

The kitchens had been spared from the massacre and showed no signs of disturbance. Evelyn glanced about the room, spotting nothing of interest but another small halla hidden on top of a beam near the ceiling. Dorian and Cassandra lifted Evelyn to reach it, and then they continued on their way.

They followed the trail of blood and bodies into a courtyard filled with archways and shrubbery. A tall, marble fountain sat in the center, adorned with stone women who wept at each corner and four golden griffons. Just in front of the fountain laid a man with a dagger in his back.

“This is no servant,” Evelyn observed, examining the body. He was finely dressed in all the marks of nobility, a mask still on his face. “What was he doing here?” 

“This man was a Council of Heralds emissary,” Vivienne said. “Curious to find him here.”

Dorian knelt beside Evelyn and pulled the knife from the man’s back. Blood seeped from the open wound.

“Is that the Chalons family crest?” he asked, examining the the blade. “What _have_ you been up to, Gaspard?”

“Time to have a word with the Duke,” Evelyn agreed, but a bloodcurdling scream caught their attention before they could move. An Elven woman ran toward them, but was silenced with a dagger through the chest.

“Venatori agents!” Evelyn yelled. She whipped out her blades as three men clad in white and steel armor rushed at them. A dagger hurled past Evelyn’s head and skidded into the dirt. Steel on steel clashed as Cassandra took on one of the agents. Vivienne trailed after her, throwing spells and barriers.

Evelyn ducked as a Ventori swung at her. She stepped around him, then lodged her blade between his shoulder blades. His companion advanced on her and she kicked him hard in the stomach, then wrenched her blade free from the other. Blood poured from either side of the wound like a crimson fountain as he fell.

“Evelyn, move!”

She leapt away, rolling to the ground as Dorian’s blast of fire singed her attacker. He screamed as the flames licked his skin, then stumbled face first into the fountain. Steam rose from the water when the flames were doused. Evelyn ran for the assailant and stepped on his back, then ran him through just as she had his companion. When she pulled out her blade, a red cloud bloomed within the water. 

“Is everyone alright?” she called. 

“We’re fine,” Vivienne said of her and Cassandra. “Dorian?”

“Just splendid. It seems our dear Inquisitor’s new teacher _has_ taught her some tricks.”

“I should hope so. She was very expensive.” Evelyn surveyed the bodies. “The Venatori were watching this approach. They’re organized. Stay on your guard, I doubt we’ve seen the last of them.”

Her instinct proved right. They sustained another assault as they traveled further through the gardens, and yet more upon entry to the grand apartments. By the time they reached a stairway to the upper floor, Evelyn’s armor was dripping blood.

“There’s a halla door. Shall we see what Celene is hiding this time?” Evelyn asked, rounding the corner. She slid the figure into place and pressed it inward. The door gave off an eerie glow, not unlike the one from the garden, and clicked opened.

It was a small room filled with trinkets and keepsakes appearing to be of a more personal nature, thought there were also portraits and heirlooms that were worth a small fortune. Evelyn was just inspecting an ornate little chest when she heard Vivienne tutting behind her.

“An elven locket tucked away in a palace safe? Unwise, Celene.”

“It’s elven?” Evelyn asked. Vivienne handed her the object. While she wasn’t incredibly well-versed in elven culture, she knew enough to recognize that it was indeed of elven make.

“We should hold onto this. It would be a shame if anyone were to find out that Celene is keeping tokens of her elven lover,” Vivienne said, her implication clear. Evelyn smiled slyly as she pocketed it.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” 

They advanced the upper guest wing, where most of the furniture was covered in sheets to protect it during the renovations. Evelyn tread carefully, not trusting the silence, and removed her daggers from their sheathes. Her companions followed suit. 

Her suspicions were correct. They turned the corner and came face to face with another group of Venatori. Vivienne threw up a barrier to block a spell that charged at them. Sidestepping crates and furniture, Evelyn raced into the fray with Cassandra on her heels. She leapt over a wooden box and caught one assailant in the throat while Cassandra occupied herself with another. As he went down, a pair of agents closed in on either side. One agent raised a blade and Evelyn sidestepped at the last moment, the strike meant for her landing deep in the other’s chest. Cassandra finished the other off. 

The last of the agents bolted down the hall. Evelyn took off after him, but she needn’t have bothered. A knife hurtled through the air and struck him, and he fell in a heap to the floor.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Briala appeared from around the corner. She walked leisurely to the balcony at Evelyn’s side. 

“Shouldn’t you be dancing, Inquisitor? What _will_ the nobility say?”

“No doubt there’s a line of people breathlessly waiting for dances with me.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there was.” She stepped out onto the balcony and peered into the courtyard below. Evelyn followed behind.

“You’ve cleaned this place out. It will take a month to get all the Tevinter blood off the marble. I came down to save or avenge my missing people, but you’ve beaten me to it. So…” she said, turning around to face her, “The Council of Heralds emissary in the courtyard - that’s not your work, is it?”

Evelyn shook her head. “He was dead when I arrived.”

“I expected as much,” Briala said, unsurprised. “You may have arrived with the Grand Duke, but you don’t seem to be doing his dirty work. I knew he was smuggling in Chevaliers, but killing a Council emissary? Bringing Tevinter assassins into the palace? Those are desperate acts. Gaspard must be planning to strike tonight.”

“He can try, but I’ll stop him.”

“I wish you luck. Better than luck - I wish you success. I misjudged you, Inquisitor. You might just be an ally worth having. What could you do with an army of elven spies at your disposal? You should think about it.”

An impressive offer - one Evelyn wasn’t foolish enough to think came without cost. Nonetheless, it wasn’t something to turn her nose up at. 

“You know how to make a sales pitch, Ambassador, I’ll give you that,” she said.

“I do, don’t I?” Briala grinned. “I know which way the wind is blowing. I’d bet coin that you’ll be part of the peace talks before the night is over. And if you happen to lean a little bit our way? It could prove advantageous to us both. Just a thought.”

With that, she jumped down to the lower level and disappeared into the shadows. 

“More politics and double dealing,” Cassandra scoffed. “Is there anyone here who is not corrupt?” 

“There’s so much conniving and backstabbing here. It makes me homesick,” Dorian joked. Evelyn sighed.

“Come on. We should get back to the ball before we’re missed.”

They returned to the servants’ quarters, taking a moment to clean away the blood and grime from their battles before peeling off their armor and redressing in the red formalwear. Vivienne adjusted Evelyn’s circlet and gave her a final inspection. Then they returned to the ballroom. 

“What did you find?” Leliana asked, finding her way to Evelyn’s side immediately. She pulled her to a quiet corner where they would not be disturbed.

“The servants have been massacred by Venatori. We cleared out the guest wing, but there may still be more. Briala was there to check on her people and offered me her spies for my support. It seems unlikely she’s our assassin. We also found a dead Council emissary and this note.”

Evelyn handed Leliana the note she had found in the trophy room. Leliana read it over quickly, then tucked it in a pocket. 

“Signs are pointing to the Grand Duke, it seems.”

“It does, but I still feel like something isn’t quite right. I need to investigate more.”

“I’ll see what I can find. Take a turn around the ballroom in the meantime. Make sure nobody notices you were absent. Is there anything else?”

“Yes - I found an elven locket in Celene’s safe. It’s not valuable, which means it’s of a more personal nature.”

“That is an _excellent_ find. Hold onto that in case we need to use it.”

“I will. Let me know if you find anything.”

“Of course.”

Evelyn returned to the crowd, ensuring to mingle with as many guests as she could manage. She was just parting ways with a noblewoman when she caught sight of the Dowager standing with a rather nervous looking young gentleman - no doubt afraid she wished to marry him. 

_You must dance with the Dowager if you wish to play The Game._

The saying was one well known in Orlais and learned in her youth during one such visit to the Empire. Evelyn crossed to her with sure steps and bowed when the Dowager turned to greet her. 

“Would you care to dance, Lady Mantillon?” she asked, extending a hand.

“You, Inquisitor, are a delight! One does not often find foreigners so well-versed in The Game. But you have other dances to perform first. Perhaps you will save me a dance for later.”

“Of course, my lady.” Evelyn retracted her hand, momentarily confused until a voice behind her demanded her attention.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan.” Evelyn turned, surprised to find the Grand Duchess standing behind her. “We met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons. Welcome to my party.”

“Is there something I can do for you, Your Grace?” Evelyn asked, bowing slightly. The Grand Duchess smiled.

“Indeed, you can. I believe tonight you and I are both concerned by the actions of a _certain person_. Come. Dance with me. Spies will not hear us on the dance floor.”

 _This_ was unexpected.

“Very well - shall we dance, Your Grace?”

“I’d be delighted.” 

Evelyn offered a hand, keenly aware of the eyes that followed them onto the floor. 

“You are from the Free Marches, are you not?” Florianne asked as they took up position among the other couples. “How much do you know about our little war?”

“I assure you, the effects of this war reach far beyond the borders of the Orlesian Empire.” The couples all bowed as the music started, then settled in to start the dance.

“Perhaps it does. I should not be surprised to find the Empire is the center of everyone’s world. It took great effort to arrange tonight’s negotiations, yet one party would use this occasion for blackest treason. The security of the Empire is at stake. Neither one of us wishes to see it fall.”

She _knew_.

But if she knew, then why hadn’t she done anything about it?

“Do we _both_ want that, Lady Florianne?” Florianne smiled again, a charming court smile that Evelyn was all too familiar with - she often wore it herself. 

“I hope we are of one mind on this,” she said, her skirts sweeping the marble floors.

“In times like these, it’s hard to tell friend from foe, is it not, Your Grace?” They closed position, and Florianne lowered her voice.

“I know you arrived here as a guest of my brother, Gaspard, and have been everywhere in the palace. You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor… and a matter of concern, to some.” 

The Duchess was certainly well-informed. Evelyn looked at her pointedly. 

“Am I the curiosity or the concern to you, Your Grace?”

“A little of both, actually,” Florianne said. “This evening is of great importance, Inquisitor. I wonder what role you will play in it. Do you even yet know who is friend and who is foe? Who in the court can be trusted?”

“An excellent question. I might ask the same of you, Your Grace.” Evelyn raised an arm, spinning the Duchess beneath it.

“In the Winter Palace, everyone is alone. It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight.”

“I thought dangerous machinations were the national sport in Orlais.”

Florianne’s lips curled into the hint of a smile, but it was gone as soon as it came. “You have little time. The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes. In the Royal Wing Garden, you will find the captain of my brother’s mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard’s secrets. I’m sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming.”

Evelyn dipped her low, realizing now that they were the only ones left on the floor. The other couples had retreated to the edges to watch, and she even spotted Celene peering down at them from above.

“We’ll see what the night has in store, won’t we?” She replied.

With a final bow, Evelyn took her leave, her departure from the dance floor accompanied by thunderous applause. 

“You’ll be the talk of the court for months!” Josephine gushed, joining Evelyn as she ascended the last of the steps from the floor. “We should take you dancing more often.”

“It _is_ nice to do something other than fight demons and horrors for once, I’ll admit.”

“You still face demons and horrors. These ones are simply better dressed.”

“ _Are_ they? Have you seen Lady Cambienne’s shoes?”

Josephine snickered. “A fair point, Inquisitor.”

“Were you dancing with Duchess Florianne?” Leliana had found them now, Cullen trailing just behind. His eyes were filled with concern.

“And more importantly, what happened in the servants’ quarters? I heard there was fighting.”

Evelyn did her best not to stare at her kerchief still fixed on his arm. Josephine sighed, her momentary glee turned morose. 

“I hope you have good news. It appears the peace talks are crumbling.”

“Morrigan helped me get into the servants’ quarters’, where I found a group of Venatori and Gaspard’s dagger,” Evelyn explained. Though this wasn’t news to Leliana, she still shook her head.

“The man would truly do anything to become Emperor.” 

“Then the attack on the Empress _will_ happen tonight,” Cullen said. They hushed as a pair of courtiers passed by, then moved their discussion into a more discreet corner of the ballroom.

“Warning Celene is pointless,” Josephine said in a harsh whisper. “She needs these talks to succeed, and to flee would admit defeat.”

“Then perhaps we should let her die.”

Leliana leaned casually against the wall as the others stared in shock. Evelyn could hardly believe what she’d heard.

“Leliana, you know I love a crazy plan as much as anyone, but _have you lost your damn mind?”_

“Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor,” she said sharply. “What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the Empire must remain strong. This evening, _someone_ must emerge victorious.”

“And it doesn’t need to be Celene,” Cullen said, realization dawning on him. “She’s right.” 

Evelyn looked from Leliana to Cullen and placed her hands on her hips. Had they all gone mad?

Josephine, as usual, was the voice of reason. 

“Do you realize what you’re suggesting, Leliana?” 

“Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one.”

 _“No.”_ Evelyn shook her head and threw up her hands. “I did _not_ stumble out of the Fade, get blasted through time, stare down Corypheus and his pet archdemon, and nearly freeze to death on a mountainside just to hand Celene’s head to him on a silver platter! I don’t particularly care for her either, but Corypheus wants her dead, which means we keep her alive. That’s the end of this discussion.” 

“Very well, Inquisitor,” Leliana said simply. Cullen stared at the ground and sighed, once again tugging at the throat of his jacket, while Evelyn turned to her spymaster.

“Get me into the royal wing. It’s time I find out what Gaspard is _really_ up to.” 

  
  



	19. Checkmate

Whatever Evelyn had thought they might find in the Empress’s personal quarters, it hadn’t been… well… _this._

 _“Maker!”_ she exclaimed upon discovery of the man tied spread-eagle to the posts of Celene’s bed. He was almost entirely nude, wearing nothing but a helm adorned with a comically large red feather. One could only draw the conclusion he must be compensating for _something._ Unfortunately, an accidental downward glance proved her suspicion correct. 

Evelyn placed one hand on her hip and rubbed at her eyes with the other.

“What… happened?” she asked, unsure she wanted to know the answer. The soldier squirmed in a pitiful attempt to free himself.

“It’s not what it looks like! Honestly, I would have preferred it if it _were_ what it looks like. The Empress led me to believe I would be rewarded for betraying the Grand Duke. This was… not what I hoped for.”

“I can imagine what you thought your reward would be.”

“The scandal!” Dorian said gleefully. “How dare these Orlesians expose Andraste’s champion to such indecency!”

“Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think, Dorian?” Evelyn grinned.

“Anything to spare your piety, Your Worship.” Evelyn shook her head. The soldier struggled harder.

“Please, I beg you, don’t tell Gaspard! The Empress beguiled me into giving her information about plans for troop movements in the palace tonight. She knows everything! _Everything!_ The Duke’s surprise attack has been countered before it ever began. She’s turned it into a trap. The moment he strikes, she’ll have him arrested for treason.”

“Clever, Celene,” Vivienne mused. “Even I’m impressed.” 

Cassandra didn’t share the sentiment. Instead, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I don’t know which is worse: Celene for using such a tactic, or him for falling for it.”

“Oh, Orlesians!” Dorian chuckled.

Evelyn had heard - and _seen_ \- enough. She turned on her heel and headed back for the door.

“Enjoy the rest of the party,” she called as her party fell in step behind her.

“Wait! No! Let me out of here!”

“Not going to free him? An interesting choice, my dear,” Vivienne said once they’d shut the door behind them.

“I know where to find him if need be.”

“Oh, you _are_ wicked,” Dorian grinned. “I knew I liked y-”

Evelyn threw out an arm, bringing her companions to a sharp halt. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

Suddenly, a scream pierced through the quiet from further down the hall. Evelyn bolted toward the sound, her party close at her heels, and burst through the door just in time. 

She ran forward, kicking the Venatori agent hard in the gut and sending him crashing through the window to the gardens far below. His target trembled in fear in the floor, her frightened expression turning to one of gratitude.

“Are you alright?” Evelyn asked, offering a hand. The servant took it and rose to her feet.

“I don’t think I am hurt. No one’s supposed to be here! Briala said… I shouldn’t have trusted her!”

“Briala told you to come to this wing of the palace?” Evelyn asked. _This_ was news indeed.

“Not _personally._ The Ambassador can’t be seen talking to the servants. We get coded messages at certain locations. But the order came from her. She’s been watching the Grand Duke all night. No surprise she wanted someone to search his sister’s room.”

“So this room belongs to Grand Duchess Florianne?” Evelyn studied her surroundings. The decor was expensive, much like the rest of the palace, but it didn’t appear to have been searched. 

“It used to. This had been her private room in Halamshiral since she was a child. But this part of the palace was damaged, and the royal family moved to the guest wing.”

“What were you trying to find in Florianne’s old room?”

“The message didn’t say. I should have known it was a setup.”

“Is there anyone else who knows the code and the drop location who could have written those orders?”

“I… I don’t know. Any of us could do it, but… no. No one else would send me here. It had to be Briala.” Evelyn wasn’t entirely convinced.

“It takes great courage to come to the royal wing unarmed.”

The servant laughed mirthlessly. “It’s not courage to blindly follow Briala’s orders into a trap! I _knew_ her. Before, when she was Celene’s pet. Now she wants to play revolution, but I remember. She was sleeping with the Empress who purged our alienage!”

“Something like that could destroy Briala, if it were known.” Evelyn raised a brow. It seemed the rumors had spread farther than Briala had bargained for. Still, something about this didn’t sit right. Evelyn knew this information as well, and no attempts had been made to silence _her_ \- as far as she knew, anyway - which led her to believe Briala might not go to such trouble to keep a simple serving girl quiet.

“Some know she has a... a _history_ with the Empress. But they believe she was just a favored servant. If… If the Inquisition would protect me, I’ll tell you everything I know about our Ambassador.”

“Go to the ballroom,” Evelyn instructed. “Find Commander Cullen. He’ll keep you safe.”

“Thank you! Maker protect you, Inquisitor!”

The elven girl took off, carefully checking her surroundings before running from the royal wing. Once she was gone, Evelyn immediately set to work searching Florianne’s room. 

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, my dear?” Vivienne asked, following suit.

“Briala didn’t send her here. Someone else did - someone who wants our focus elsewhere, which means whoever it is knows we’re searching for them.”

“Gaspard?” Cassandra suggested. “He’s pointed us toward Briala all night.” Evelyn rummaged through the drawers of a vanity.

“But why send the elf _here?”_ Dorian asked. “What could Gaspard hope to find in his sister’s room?”

Evelyn paced as her search turned up nothing. “It doesn’t make sense! If there was something to find, why have Venatori waiting to kill the person doing his bidding? Unless-”

She froze in place as the pieces of the puzzle began to lock together. 

“Unless the elf wasn’t supposed to find anything at all.”

“I’m usually good at this, but I’m afraid you’ve lost me this time,” Dorian said, confused. 

“Briala isn’t the assassin. Neither is Gaspard. But _who?”_ Evelyn resumed her pacing. “Someone sent the elf here, not to _find_ anything, but because they would walk straight into an ambush. Another of Briala’s agents would be dead, much like the elves we found in the courtyard. With any luck, we’d follow and get ourselves killed as well. If not, Gaspard or Briala looks like the guilty party. But why _here?_ Why would there be Venatori stationed in Florianne’s old room?”

_Because they knew they could hide here._

Evelyn snapped her head upwards and locked eyes with Vivienne.

“Florianne,” they said in unison.

“It’s Florianne,” Evelyn repeated. “Florianne is our assassin. Let’s go!”

Evelyn pulled out her daggers and sprinted down the hall. She bounded down the stairs, but a familiar pain shot through her arm as the anchor flared. She stumbled, crying out as her dagger fell and skidded across the marble.

“Evelyn, are you alright?” Dorian rushed to her side, but she waved him off.

“I’ll be fine,” she uttered through clenched teeth. “There’s a rift. Be ready.”

She grabbed her dagger off the floor and ran into another open courtyard. It was bathed in eerie green light, and sure enough a large rift twisted in the air above them. Archers surrounded them, arrows nocked and ready. Florianne stood above it all, perched upon a balcony like a puppet master whose strings controlled the lackeys below.

“Inquisitor! What a pleasure. I wasn’t certain you’d attend. You’re such a challenge to read. I had no idea if you’d taken my bait.”

“I fear I’m a bit busy at the moment, if you’re looking for a dance partner,” Evelyn replied, twirling a blade. Florianne fixed her with the ridiculous court smile she used for dancing and murder alike.

“Yes, I see that. Such a pity you did not save one final dance for me. It was kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. I was so tired of your meddling. Corypheus insisted that the Empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him.”

“You’re not being kind, Florianne!” Evelyn taunted. “He’s got to get used to disappointment.”

“But not today, I think. In their darkest dreams, no one imagines that _I_ would assassinate Celene myself. All I need is to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike. A pity you’ll miss the rest of the ball, Inquisitor. They’ll be talking of it for years.” Florianne turned, calling to her minions as she made her way back inside. “Kill her. Bring me the marked hand as proof. It will make a fine gift for the master.”

Evelyn dove forward as arrows hailed down where she had been standing only seconds before. She rolled across the grass and threw up her hand. Vines of green light sprung forth, jolting through her veins and disrupting the rift as demons poured from its depths. Across the yard, Cassandra sliced one in half with her sword while Dorian assaulted the archers with the elements. Vivienne covered them, extending her barriers as far as she could reach. 

Evelyn rose to her feet and dashed for the closest demon, lodging both of her blades into its chest. It fell immediately, so she ran for the next, felling demon after demon until only the rift remained. Raising the anchor to the rift once more, Evelyn was locked into a tug of war as the Fade green ropes dragged her forward. She dug her heels into the dirt and jerked her arm back with all the strength she could muster. Finally, the rift sealed with a loud _crack._

“Andraste’s tits! What was all that? Were those demons? There aren’t any more of those blasted demons coming, right?”

Gaspard’s mercenary captain was tied to a post just across the yard. Dorian was already working on freeing him from his binding when Evelyn reached him.

“Good eye!” she said. “Those were _definitely_ demons.”

“Maker bless me! Demons? How could there be demons in the fucking Winter Palace? I knew Gaspard was a bastard, but I didn’t think he’d feed me to fucking horrors over a damned bill!”

“Your accent sounds Ferelden. I thought you were one of Gaspard’s mercenaries?” The man nodded as he stood.

“Born and raised in Denerim. Seems like I should have stayed there. The Duke wanted to move in on the palace tonight, but he didn’t have enough fancy chevaliers. So he hired me, and my men. He had to offer us triple our usual pay to get us to come to Orlais. Stinking poncy cheesemongers.”

“Want a new job? One that pays better?” Evelyn offered. “The Inquisition can always use a good mercenary company.”

“You hiring?” he asked. “I’m game. Anything’s better than this bullshit. You want me to talk to the Empress, or the court, or sing a blasted song in the chantry, I’ll do it.”

Evelyn took his name, promising to contact him later. Then, she and her party rushed through the palace, cutting down any Venatori that tried to stop them on the way. Once again, they exchanged their armor for the red uniforms and followed Evelyn into the ballroom. 

“Thank the Maker you’re back!” Cullen said, meeting her at the door. He looked relieved. “The Empress will begin her speech soon. What should we do?” 

Evelyn found her target at the far side of the room - Florianne walked with Gaspard toward the stairs where Evelyn had greeted her and the Empress hours earlier. 

“Wait here, Cullen,” she said. “I’m going to have a word with the Grand Duchess.”

“What? There’s no time! The Empress will begin her speech any moment!”

With no time to explain, Evelyn stalked down the steps and straight down the center of the now empty dance floor. The guests whispered as she passed, formal coat billowing behind her, all having been moved aside for the Empress’s speech. 

“We owe the court one more show, Your Grace.”

Florianne turned, displaying only the slightest hint of surprise before smothering it with that irritating smile once again.

“Inquisitor.”

“The eyes of every noble in the Empire are upon us, Your Grace. Remember to smile. This is your party - you wouldn’t want them to think you had lost control.”

Her voice carried through the hall with ease, and the whispers hushed as the Grand Duchess backed away from Evelyn’s strides. Each click of her heeled boots rand out against the marble. 

“Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?” Florianne did her best to steady her tone, but it wasn’t enough - Evelyn could hear the panic settling beneath the words. Her lips curled in satisfaction.

“I seem to recall you saying, ‘All I needed was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike.’ When your archers failed to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn’t save me this last dance.” 

The guests gasped in shock, and Evelyn could sense Florianne’s fear spiking as she realized she’d lost control. Evelyn relished in it, circling the traitor like a shark out for blood.

“It’s _so_ easy to lose your good graces, you even framed your brother for the murder of a Council Emissary. It was an ambitious plan - Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds - all your enemies under one roof.”

“This is very entertaining, but you do not imagine anyone believes your wild stories.” Her words were useless. They were nervous, _weak,_ the cracks in her armor clear to every onlooker.

“That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin,” Celene said. Florianne’s eyes widened in horror, and she turned frantically to her brother for help.

“Gaspard? You cannot believe this! You know I would never- Gaspard!”

But Gaspard had turned on her as well. He left up the stairs with Briala in a fleeting show of solidarity while Imperial guards closed in on Florianne, who raised her hands in meek protest. Evelyn fixed her with a stare that would freeze the Waking Sea. 

“You lost this fight ages ago, Your Grace. You’re just the last to find out.”

“No! _No!”_

Her objections were useless. The guards dragged her off, and the hall erupted once again with whispers and chatter. Evelyn turned to the Empress.

“Your Imperial Majesty, I think we should speak in private. Elsewhere.”

***

_Maker, what have I done?_

That was the thought that dominated Evelyn’s mind as she stood high above the court with Celene, her glass raised in triumph and her most winning smile plastered upon her face. For the life of her, she wasn’t entirely sure what Celene had just said, distracted by a rapid stream of thoughts as she attempted to assess the current situation. In the last hour, she had accosted the assassin, sent the Grand Duke to his death, ended a civil war, and reopened negotiations between Celene and Briala, who had long since slipped back into the crowd. All eyes were now upon the woman with the glowing hand who wore Andraste’s crown, and yet all Evelyn could hear were her mother’s words in her head.

_Stand up straight._

_Speak clearly._

_Be neither too approachable nor too aloof. Mystery keeps them interested. Lose interest, and you’ve lost everything._

_Evelyn, for Andraste’s sake, put the knives down and smile!_

“Will you address the court, my friend?” Celene asked. It was more announcement than question, as greedy eyes gazed up from the viper’s nest below. Evelyn stepped closer to the bannister. She discreetly scanned the crowd, finding comfort when she located the cluster of red uniforms gathered together within the sea of Orlesian masks.

“Ending the war was the first step. Our final goal must be peace for _all_ Thedas!” Evelyn’s voice carried across the room, her expression schooled into something both celebratory and serious, appearing outwardly calm as she looked over the crowd. She nearly laughed as she realized that perhaps, just this once, she was putting on a performance even her mother might be satisfied with.

“The Inquisition is delighted to support the rightful ruler of Orlais - a delight that comes second only to that which we will share in our victory over Corypheus. In years to come, it will be my pleasure to say that Orlais was instrumental in our success. May Andraste guide us to peace, and may we all walk in the Maker’s light!”

“Well said, Inquisitor! We of the court must use our resources. Not every battle is won on the field. But that is tomorrow - tonight, feast, my friends! Enjoy our victory! There will be many more to come!”

Cheers and toasts erupted through the ballroom as the festivities resumed with renewed vitality. Evelyn bid Celene farewell, then downed her wine in a few graceless gulps before discarding the glass on a nearby table. Then she made her way to the nearest balcony, finding herself in desperate need of a moment alone.

All else aside, it was a lovely night. The stars above Halamshiral studded the velvet sky and leaves rustled in the gardens below, barely audible over the sounds of music and laughter coming from inside. The crisp night air was a welcome change, and Evelyn found herself in no rush to return to the ball. Instead, she breathed deeply, taking a moment to mull over the events of the evening. She paced the balcony’s edge, dragging her fingertips along the bannister.

“The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them. Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations, Inquisitor? ‘Tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf.”

“I would have stayed, but the punch ran dry. Scandalous,” Evelyn said dryly. The wine was still flowing, of course, but Morrigan seemed appreciative of the joke.

“Indeed?” she laughed. “Let us see if you take this piece of news as poorly - by Imperial decree, I have been named Liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid, including mine. Congratulations.”

“I had no idea you were interested in joining the Inquisition,” Evelyn said, surprised. 

“The assignment has been given to me, regardless of my personal interest. Celene knows you face an opponent who wields great power, which is far more important than her own curiosity. You will require my knowledge if you are to defeat such magic. Regardless, Corypheus is a threat to Orlais, and to myself. Thus I am not opposed to the appointment.”

Despite the heir of mystery and Leliana’s warnings, Evelyn had a good feeling about the Empress’s occult advisor. Besides, she was in no position to turn down offers of help. 

“Welcome to the Inquisition, Morrigan,” Evelyn smiled. Morrigan smiled. 

“A most gracious response. I shall meet you at Skyhold.”

The witch left her then, and Evelyn found herself once again alone on the balcony. She leaned heavily onto the bannister, resting her face in her hands for just a moment before staring out at the grounds below. A gentle breeze blew cool on her face as she rocked backward a bit, stretching her legs. 

Had she done the right thing? It seemed peace had been at least temporarily restored. Celene had shown signs of willingness to work with Briala, and Evelyn now had the clout to influence her decisions. Every noble in Orlais was lining up to wish her well and offer support. It was good, technically.

But why, then, did it make her feel so unsettled?

“There you are.”

Without rising from her position, Evelyn turned her head to find Cullen settling at her side. He leaned casually on one arm, looking far more handsome than he had any right, but Evelyn didn’t have the energy left to comment on it.

“Everyone’s been looking for you. Things have calmed down for the moment. Are you alright?”

 _Was_ she alright? Evelyn rubbed absentmindedly at her nose. It was not lost on her that in the course of a few hours she had practically taken control of an Empire. She had been trained for a night like this since she was a girl, playing the games of the court and charming the nobility without a thought. She had to succeed tonight, not only for Thedas, but because her bloodline demanded it. Her victory had not been surprising. What _had_ been surprising was the realization that perhaps she didn’t want it. 

Her roots ran deep, and there was no discarding them. She was proud of her name and her family, difficult as they may be, but as she stared out across the gardens Evelyn found herself for the first time wondering at the prospect of a more simple life - a life where the fate of the world did not rest upon her shoulders. 

But entertaining such an idea was useless, and, regardless, how could she possibly explain that?

A sideways glance reminded her Cullen was still watching her, concern set deep in his eyes as she hadn’t yet answered him.

“I’m just worn out,” she sighed at last. “Tonight has been… very long.”

“For all of us. I’m glad it’s over.”

Evelyn hung her head, feeling more drained than she had in a long while. 

“I know it’s foolish, but I was worried for you tonight,” Cullen said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Evelyn patted it with a half-hearted smile, but it looked forced, even for her. 

Cullen rubbed his thumb over her shoulder. Normally, Evelyn wouldn’t let anyone see her in such a state, but her Commander had laid siege to her heart and toppled her walls without even realizing. They crumbled in his presence, and Evelyn was unable to present anything to him but the truth of her weariness.

Applause bled from the ballroom as another dance came to an end. Cullen glanced through the doors and back, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I may never have another chance like this, so I must ask.” Evelyn shook her head in bewilderment as he stood and extended a hand. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

She smiled in earnest now, unable to keep it from spreading over her face as she allowed him to bring her toward him. 

“Of course. I thought you didn’t dance?”

“For you, I’ll try.”

“Here. Let me help.” 

Evelyn guided his hands into position, then talked him through a few basic steps. He did better than he gave himself credit for, though she did giggle a bit at a few small stumbles. Growing bold from her praises, he spun her outward, her laughter only growing when she fell back into his chest.

“You’re showing off now! I’ve created a monster!” 

“And if I am?” 

“Then I’ll have to make you dance with me more often. You’d better be careful, or soon you’ll be out there with all the…” 

Evelyn stopped, only just noticing the complete look of adoration in Cullen’s golden eyes. Rarely did Cullen ever seem fully at ease - he certainly hadn’t been at any point tonight, but right now he was staring at her with an infectious smile that she couldn’t help but return.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked. Cullen held her a little closer. They swayed slowly, no longer caring whether or not they matched the music. 

“It’s just that I’ve been fighting off Orlesians all night. That Ostwick accent has never sounded so sweet.”

“What, this accent?” Evelyn grinned, drawing out her Ostwick lilt.

“That’s the one.”

“Your Ferelden one isn’t too hard on the ears either.”

“Like it, do you?” he asked.

“Mm,” she affirmed. “Though I _did_ hear another Ferelden earlier, but I’m afraid I was a bit distracted by the phrase ‘stinking poncy cheesemongers’ to enjoy it.”

Cullen laughed heartily. “Denerim?” he asked.

“Born and raised, supposedly.”

“That sounds right.”

They remained that way for short while, swaying in the quiet of the secluded balcony. In that moment there was nothing else - no magisters or archdemons, no Empress, no politics - only Cullen and his arms around her, and those eyes that looked at her like she was the only woman in the world.

“How do you do that?” Evelyn asked, resting her head against his chest.

“Do what?”

“Make everything else go away.”

Cullen paused for a moment, then guided her eyes to meet him with a gentle hand beneath her chin.

“You deserve every happiness, Evelyn. If I can take away some of your burden, even for a moment, then I will do all I can to do so.”

His hand had moved to cup her face, the other steadying her at her lower back as Evelyn’s palms rested upon his chest. Instinctively, she reached around the back of his neck as their lips drew ever nearer...

“Sorry, lovebirds, but I’m afraid you aren’t done just yet.”

They remained locked together as they faced their intruder. Leliana stood in the doorway, a flute of wine in either hand.

“Are you sure we need a spymaster?” Cullen teased into Evelyn’s ear.

“I heard that. You’re lucky it was only me,” Leliana grinned. “Unfortunately, the Inquisitor has a few rounds to make before she can disappear for the evening.”

“Alright, Leliana. I’m coming.” Evelyn untangled herself from Cullen, suddenly feeling much colder than before. She took the wine Leliana offered her, then paused in the doorway, turning to him once more. 

“I’ll see you soon,” she assured him. Then she followed the spymaster back inside.

***

Evelyn’s round of goodbyes had taken the better part of an hour, with no sign of ending any time soon. Cullen nursed his wine while he waited with Cassandra, growing only more impatient each time Evelyn was accosted by yet another noble. She spoke to each with an ease he could never achieve, toasting to victory and laughing at jokes he would never understand. She dazzled them all with her grace and her smile, and Cullen couldn’t blame them for the way they fell for her easy charm.

She _was_ dazzling, after all - a vision in red and gold with cherry lips that could tempt the Maker himself. Luckily, He already had a bride.

“When are you going to tell her?”

Cassandra’s voice cut through his reverie. He pulled his eyes from where a noble was kissing Evelyn’s knuckles in farewell to face the Nevarran beside him.

“Tell her what?” 

“That you’re in love with her.”

Was it so obvious? Cullen felt his face reddening, and it had little to do with the drink. He drained the last of his wine in a large gulp. 

“It’s obvious,” Cassandra said, speaking the answer of his unasked question. “I’d be shocked if she doesn’t already know. You must be able to see that she cares for you. What are you afraid of?”

_Losing her._

Was it possible she felt the same? Things had been going well so far, but was she ready for such a confession? 

“We’re not rushing things,” he said awkwardly, tugging at his throat. Surely he would be able to take this damned jacket off soon?

“You’re wearing the favor of House Trevelyan in the heart of the Orlesian Game. She looks at you the same way you look at her. You should just tell her.”

“I’m waiting for the perfect moment, and that moment isn’t going to be surrounded by Orlesians after a few glasses of wine.”

“Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, she’s coming over here now.”

Sure enough, Evelyn was nearly upon them. Her cheeks were rosy from drink, and she seemed to be in better spirits than when he had found her on the balcony.

“It seems I’m free at last!” she declared, glass raised high. 

“To your freedom,” Cassandra toasted, clinking her own glass to Evelyn’s.

“A worthy toast.” Evelyn peered at Cullen through long lashes, that unmistakable glint of mischief in her eyes. “Care to ensure I don’t get assassinated on my way back, Commander?” 

“Maker, _yes.”_

He set their glasses on a nearby table and offered an arm, not caring how obvious his excitement was to leave. He could’ve sworn he heard Cassandra chuckle as they left the ballroom.

“So?” Evelyn asked, cheerily - if not clumsily - tugging him backwards down the hall. “Do you still like me?” The party had shown no signs of stopping when they left, and as such the guest wing was still empty. Cullen chuckled, recalling his promise from earlier.

“I’m a man of my word - I still like you. If anything, I like you even more.” He allowed her to pull him toward his room, grinning all the while. Despite his preferences for anything else, the few glasses of Orlesian wine had left him feeling far more relaxed than he had been in quite awhile. Evelyn seemed in a similar state. Her energy was infectious. 

“Even after I accosted the Grand Duchess in front of the entire court?”

“ _Especially_ after that. That was one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen. Remind me to stay on your good side.”

“I don’t have a bad side,” she flirted, her back now pressed to the door to his room. Cullen leaned a forearm by her head, closing her in.

“No. You don’t,” he agreed. The glint was back, and between that, her Andrastian dress, and her flushed cheeks, she looked a dangerous mixture of sinner and saint that was too powerful a temptation to ignore. 

She pushed on the handle and swung the door back just as he leaned to kiss her and giggled as they stumbled into the room. Cullen regained his footing and shut the door.

“You’re a terrible tease, you know that?” He took the tip of his finger in his mouth and pulled off his glove with his teeth.

“You may have mentioned it once or twice.” Cullen admired the gentle sway of her hips as she crossed the room. She pulled off her own gloves and retrieved a small bottle from a trunk, then poured its contents into two glasses.

“Brandy?” Cullen asked, eyeing the amber liquid as Evelyn handed it to him. “I thought you said you’d brought wine?”

“I said I’d brought a Ferelden bottle. I never said what was in it,” she winked. Cullen grinned, pleased to finally have a _real_ drink after a long night.

“Bless you.”

“Cheers.” The brandy was smooth and sweet, much like the woman who’d poured it. 

“So, how was your first ball?” Evelyn asked.

“Would it suffice to say that I hope it’s my last?”

“It wasn’t  _ all _ terrible. Are you telling me you had no fun? Not even a little?” she asked.

Cullen grinned. “I suppose there were a few good moments.”

“Such as?”

“A private dance and a gift from the most beautiful woman in Thedas, for starters.”

“That sounds like a lovely evening to me,” Evelyn said, draping an arm up around his neck. “And you’ve never witnessed a Trevelyan soirée before! That might change your mind.”

“Are they so different?”

“There’s still the dancing and the posturing, of course, but there are no masks and the schemes aren’t so grand as they are here. And it’s not a Trevelyan family event until a brawl breaks out.”

“Modest in temper,” Cullen said, recalling the words now tied to his arm. Evelyn laughed.

“Indeed. It’s fun to place bets, though.”

“Are there as many men vying for your attention?” Cullen set down his glass and wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. Evelyn set her own glass next to his, a wicked grin spreading across her face as he nuzzled into her ear.

“More, usually. Why? Jealous?”

“Yes. I am.” 

He pressed a line of kisses along her jaw, satisfied when her breath hitched and she swallowed hard. Liquid courage had made him brave, and her response to his actions only encouraged him.

“I’m jealous of every man who stared after you tonight, or held onto you for too long, or let his hand fall too low, or voiced his indecent wishes.”

His lips travelled downward to her neck, and Cullen could’ve sworn he felt her quickening pulse beneath the soft skin. 

“Careful, Commander,” she purred, hands wandering over his chest and lacing into his hair. “I’m a pious woman, you know.”

Cullen was sure she knew exactly what she was doing to him, and he groaned as she pressed her thigh between his legs. Evelyn was a stronger temptation than anything he had experienced before, and he a weak, weak man.

He pulled Andraste’s circlet from her head and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

“Please,” he growled. “You may be dressed like a saint, but I know better.” 

“I haven’t any idea what you mean.” Her expression was one of feigned innocence, mischief still hidden within her widened doe-eyes that only aroused him more.

“No?” He chuckled, voice low. “The picture of piety then?”

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

_ That _ was an order he had no trouble following.

Her lips tasted like brandy and lipstick, sin and salvation, and Cullen was losing himself in the sounds of her soft moans as his hands found her hips, her breasts, her _ass_ , and he found he cared little if she was herald or demon. If this is what sent him to the Void, then so be it. 

They stumbled across the room in a tangle of limbs and tongues, knocking into an end table on the way and sending the glass bottle shattering against the stone. They paid it no mind, and Evelyn playfully shoved him onto the plush sofa and clambered into his lap.

She was everywhere, all lips and hands and _legs_ \- those legs that normally tormented him now straddling his lap. He gripped her bottom as she deftly untied his sash, then started on the buttons of his jacket. One by one she tugged them open, and he could taste her momentary surprise when she found him bare underneath.

“No shirt?” she asked against his lips, unwilling to break their kiss. 

“Jacket was too tight.” 

Evelyn explored him appreciatively, running her hands over every inch of his bared chest and downward. She hesitated at the waist of his breeches.

“Can I?” she breathed.

_“Maker, please.”_

Cullen groaned when she touched him, cursing the fabric that kept them apart. She pulled her mouth away to focus on her sinful ministrations, but he wouldn’t allow it. He brought her back to him with a hand behind her neck and licked her lips until they parted. A gentle nip with his teeth caught her by surprise. She gasped, her hand retreating in an instinctual reaction, but before she could return it Cullen reached for the top buttons on her own garment and she followed to aid him instead.

Until a sharp knock made them freeze in their tracks, that was. 

“Evelyn?” Josephine called through the door. 

“Sweet holy Andraste, what now?” Evelyn cursed. The words were a panted whisper, barely audible over the sound of her heavy breathing. Cullen returned his lips to her neck, and Evelyn bit down on her lip to contain her sighs.

“I know you’re in there!”

“What is it, Josie?” Evelyn called. Cullen took pleasure in the way her voice wavered.

“The Empress would like to speak to you. Privately.”

“Why did we save her again?” Cullen complained into her neck. Evelyn fought to stifle her laughter. 

“I’m afraid it’s important, Inquisitor. We need to negotiate the Empire’s support of the Inquisition.”

Evelyn sighed and moved to stand, but Cullen pulled her back. She fell back on top of him, this time unable to keep the laughter from falling from her lips onto his.

Though she said nothing, they both could feel Josephine’s impatience in her silence. Cullen regretfully let Evelyn go, not bothering to move as she went to open the door. Though he was blocked from Josephine’s view, Cullen was certain she wasn’t pleased with the sight of the Inquisitor. Evelyn’s lipstick was smeared (and was no doubt all over his own face), and her clothing disheveled, the top buttons of her formalwear undone. 

“I’m sorry. I know it’s been a long night.” Josephine was sincere - Cullen could hear that much in her tone. 

“It’s not your fault,” Evelyn sighed, attempting to straighten herself. It pained him to see the weight return to her shoulders. “But I should warn you, I’m a few glasses in.”

“That’s why I’m coming with you. Luckily, so is the Empress. We’ll clean you up before we go. Here, drink this.”

“I will.”

Evelyn turned to him apologetically, a tall glass of water now in hand. There was no misunderstanding - such negotiations would take hours. Evelyn would not be returning tonight. 

“It’s alright,” Cullen said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

Evelyn retrieved her gloves and circlet then kissed him once more, this one much softer than those they had shared just minutes prior. She lingered for a moment, smiling weakly before following Josephine out the door. 

Cullen leaned back into the sofa and ran a hand through his hair, his legs still spread where Evelyn had left him and his skin still searing from her touch. He sighed, trying and failing not to think too hard on what might have happened had she not been summoned.

“I hate Orlais,” he groaned. 

  
  



	20. War and Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW - Lyrium Addiction

Cullen awoke feeling stiff, and it had little to do with sleeping on the ground.

No - the bedroll he could handle. The true source of his problem was Evelyn’s rear pressed against him, her occasional shifting as she slept only making matters worse.

He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her hair and the feeling of his arm wrapped around her slender waist. Their travel back to Skyhold, thin tents, and general lack of privacy had given them no time to discuss what had happened - or _almost_ happened - after the ball just a few short days ago. 

The memory of her sighs had plagued him for days. Now that he had gotten a taste, he desperately longed for more, and he was quite certain that all the blood in his body was currently rushing between his legs. 

Cullen was careful not to wake her as he wriggled free, desperate to get away before she woke and noticed his condition. He pulled on his armor as silently as he could manage and slipped outside. 

It was early yet. Besides those stationed on watch, almost no one was awake to see the sun cresting the horizon. Cullen sat and stoked the fire. Evelyn would want hot water for tea.

It was criminal how spectacular she had been that night. Evelyn had masterfully accosted Florianne, prowling around the would-be assassin with the certainty of victory in her eyes - a certainty Cullen hadn’t felt in a long while. She was a picture of strength and ethereal beauty when she addressed the court, her words perfectly chosen, as though flowing straight from the Maker’s Bride herself. No one had paid Celene any mind - instead, all eyes were captivated by Andraste’s Herald.

But _Maker,_ could she be a demon when she wanted to be.

“You’re up early, Commander.”

Dorian sat himself down by the fire. His nightclothes were far too expensive looking for their present surroundings, but Cullen had long since gotten used to it.

“I could say the same for you. Is the Inquisitor’s treatment not luxurious enough for you?”

“Oh no, Evelyn’s tent is lovely - spacious, private, lacking a certain blabbermouth Ferelden. It’s odd how talkative you are in your sleep, actually, since you insist on doing this... _brooding_ thing, when you’re awake. But, I digress. As delightful as Evelyn’s warm, thick furs are, when nature calls-”

“I get the idea, Dorian.” Cullen shook his head at the mage’s teasing and set up the kettle.

“Is this how you Ferelden’s feel all the time? It’s invigorating! Breeches down in the morning air, privates exposed to all manner of nature. What a rush!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cullen said. “It’s only the Ferelden experience if you eat an entire wheel of cheese afterward.”

“Touché, Commander! I did discover that custom in Redcliffe. My insides weren’t right for days.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep himself from chuckling. 

“Making tea?” Dorian asked. “Good. Evelyn is a damned monster in the morning without it.”

“I find that unlikely.” Evelyn was known to be an early riser at Skyhold, when she had a decent night’s sleep. Cullen remembered her confession about the little rest she got in the field. He had seen it himself the last few nights, when she tossed and turned for hours before finally drifting off. It was more likely she was simply tired.

“Have you seen that woman with a knife?” Dorian asked. Cullen paused in his stoking for just a moment before continuing

“Point taken.”

“So, what’s next on the agenda now that we’ve saved the Empress?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been working with Leliana to hunt down Samson, but it’s turned up little so far. It doesn’t matter - he can’t hide forever, and when he slips up, we’ll find him.”

“Nasty business, that. All those Templars turning to red lyrium.”

“Corypheus exploited a weakness that the Chantry left them open to. I can’t say I don’t understand why they did it.” Cullen sighed. “It doesn’t make things any easier.”

“And you? How are you doing?”

Cullen looked at the mage in surprise. _He_ certainly hadn’t told Dorian of his trials, having only mentioned it to a select few people. So how…?

“Evelyn didn’t tell me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Dorian explained. “I’m assuming she knows, of course. I haven’t discussed it with anyone. Any mage of skill would notice it - there’s been a distinct decline of magical energy around you. The kind of energy only put out by lyrium.”

Cullen’s mouth gaped in surprise, but then he nodded, acknowledging the truth in Dorian’s words. He stared down into the slowly growing fire.

“Some days are better than others. For the moment, I’m fine.”

“I know I mercilessly tease you, but I do consider you a friend. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Short of sharing your tent, again, that is.”

Cullen smiled. “I appreciate it. Though I think I preferred the teasing.”

“Thank the Maker! So do I. Does your hair always look like this in the morning? Is that why Varric calls you Curly? I’d always wondered-”

A scream - _Evelyn’s_ scream _-_ pierced the quiet morning. Cullen raced for the tent with his sword drawn and his heart in his throat. He hadn’t seen anyone approaching. Had he missed something?

He threw back the flaps and rushed in, finding Evelyn backed into the corner, cowering behind a fur blanket and pointing at the assailant that held her hostage - a small black spider. 

“Cullen, _get rid of it!”_ she shrieked. 

“You’re… afraid of _spiders?”_

_“Now!”_

He sheathed his sword, sighing in relief that she was in no immediate danger. She pressed backward even further as the tiny beast crawled along the ground. 

Cullen fought his laughter as he scooped up the attacker and set it free in the woods. Evelyn watched with eagle eyes to make sure it was far enough away.

“You are safe, my lady. Your knight has gotten rid of the beast for you,” Cullen teased, returning to where Evelyn stood at the entrance to the tent and placing a light kiss upon her forehead. She clutched a blanket tightly around herself, only her bare feet and the hems of her linen breeches showing.

“A knight would have slain it,” she grumbled, still staring into the woods. 

“See? Cranky,” Dorian muttered to Cullen, handing Evelyn a mug. She slipped a hand through the opening of the furs to accept it.

“If it returns, I promise I will slay it,” Cullen grinned.

“If it returns, I’m setting this whole camp on fire.”

“Relax, Evelyn” Dorian said as they made their way to sit. Evelyn tucked herself close to Cullen, still tightly swaddled within the fur blanket. “The only dangerous beast here is tied to a post over there. Your pony has an attitude problem.”

“Dorian Pavus, you leave my horse alone!” 

“Leave _her_ alone? She bit me!”

“What did you do to her?”

“Only commit the grievous sin of eating an apple in her presence.”

“You teased her! Those are her favorite!”

“Oh, of _course_. I should’ve offered my breakfast to the brute. How foolish of me!”

“She isn’t a brute! She’s a purebred Free Marches Ranger!”

“Isn’t it a bit early for you to be picking on the Inquisitor, Dorian? The sun isn’t even up yet.” Leliana yawned, making her way over with Josephine in tow.

“Perhaps,” Dorian said. “Isn’t it a bit early for you to be scolding me? Shouldn’t you still be hanging upside down like a bat?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That stopped hours ago.”

Dorian held up his hands in mock apology. “My mistake.”

Leliana shoved him playfully, then turned her attention to Evelyn. “I wanted to ask how negotiations with Celene went. We haven’t had a private moment to talk about it.”

“Negotiations went well,” Evelyn said, blowing into her mug. “Celene was quite agreeable to anything I wanted, once I showed her the elven locket we found stashed in that safe. I expect we’ll have only the greatest support from Orlais for the time being.” A sly grin crept over her face. “Let’s see her call Ostwick’s nobility ‘quaint’ now.”

Dorian howled with laughter as the others cheered. Evelyn, for her part, looked far too pleased with herself. Even Cullen shook with laughter, his feelings a mixture of pride and adoration paired with a hint of disbelief that any one person could be this dangerous with both words and knives.

“Marvelous business!” Dorian praised. “You saved an Empress, and now she’s eating out of your hand. Perfect mental image! All this dancing, politics, and murder…” He sighed. “Makes me a bit homesick.” 

“Happy to oblige. A taste of home, just for you.”

“Not _just_ for me. Fun for the whole family! Even our dear Ambassador had fun.”

Josephine smiled, unable to deny her enjoyment. “The last time I was at Halamshiral was Countess Letienne’s wedding. There were a dozen affairs, five secret alliances, and a duel between two chevaliers over the vintage of an Antivan port. But until the Duchess was unmasked, I’ve never seen the Winter Palace in shock.”

“No one can say the evening wasn’t memorable,” Evelyn agreed.

“They’ve already begun composing songs about it in Val Royeaux, no doubt. The Game’s become increasingly insular in the past few years. Corypheus skillfully took advantage. It’s disturbing so few people in the Orlesian court were aware of the Duchess’s machinations.”

“The Empress realized she was in danger.”

“She’s _always_ in danger. Those loyal to her should have practiced more vigilance. But let’s not lose sight of victory. Your actions at the ball have secured us allies and favors alike.”

“Insular cliques, snide half-truths, everyone sizing up everyone else… Dorian’s right,” Evelyn sighed. “It reminded me of home.”

“I completely understand the feeling, Inquisitor. Let’s hope the next ball any of our families hold is quieter than this one, shall we?”

They finished their tea and their breakfast, Evelyn looking pointedly at Dorian while she fed her horse the finest apple she could find, then began preparations to leave. With any luck, they would reach Skyhold before dinner. Cullen led the soldiers in packing up most of their tents and supplies, but when he returned to ready his own belongings he found Evelyn standing barefoot in front of the tent, having said something a while before about needing to grab her boots before joining in to help.

“You’re still thinking about the spider, aren’t you?” he asked.

“It was _huge!”_

Cullen laughed, placing a kiss upon her cheek on his way inside. “Stay here. I’ll get your boots.”

***

“You can’t be serious,” Cullen said, staring at the report in hand. 

“What is it?” Evelyn took a bite from one of the small sandwiches a servant has brought them not long before. They had only returned the evening prior, but the reports had piled up in the time they had been gone. She, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine had grabbed everything they had missed during their travels and set themselves up in the war room early that morning, having decided it would be easiest to work through everything of importance together. They had been at it for hours. 

“Our battalion has apparently made an impression on the nobility in Verchiel. There have been a series of closed door meetings, and several useful names have sent diplomatic envoys. The potential future gains could be impressive.” He looked sternly across the table at Evelyn’s gleeful expression. “Do _not_ tell Sera I said so.”

“There’s more good news,” Leliana added. “It seems Sutherland’s crew has been making quite the impression as well. That ragtag mercenary crew is doing us a lot of good.”

“That isn’t all. Take a look at this.” Josephine handed Evelyn a letter stamped with the official seal of the King of Ferelden. She raised a brow, looking it over with curiosity.

_Inquisitor,_

_Here's the thing: I don't even own a mask. Thus, when the Orlesian empress_ _invites me to engage in "real peace talks," I get nervous. I don't know what Orlesians mean when they say that, but I hear it involves poison and dancing. Perhaps both at the same time. I'm told you know Empress Celene and she owes you for that whole 'saved your life' business. Considering you also helped save mine, perhaps the Inquisition could help make these talks happen?_

_King Alistair Theirin_

“News travels fast,” Evelyn mused. 

“There is a great deal of bad blood between these nations, but I could do my best to help facilitate these talks. Perhaps somewhere a bit more neutral. Jader?”

“Great idea, Josephine. Please arrange the talks at your earliest convenience. If anyone can do it, you can.”

“I will do my best, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn looked over the members of her war council. They were still buried in reports, the stacks covering most of the map on the table, and though they’d never complain, she sensed the exhaustion of the taxing task in each of them. 

“Alright, we’re breaking for the rest of the afternoon,” Evelyn declared. She raised a hand as their protests raised, citing the sheer amount of work still sitting on the table. “It will still be here in a few hours. We can come back after dinner if you insist on getting more done today, but if we keep going in this state someone is bound to miss something. Go outside, take a nap, do whatever you please, but no more work for a while.”

A few mumbles of, “Yes, Inquisitor,” and they packed up their things, neatly restacking the reports they had been working on before exiting. 

“Inquisitor, just one more moment of your time before we break?”

“Of course, Josephine. What can I do for you?” Evelyn smiled at Cullen and Leliana as they left, noting that she would have to personally check to make sure Cullen hadn’t smuggled more reports back to his office.

“I’m sending out our supply requisitions for healing herbs and such, and I wanted to see if there was anything you needed. I’ve already checked with Solas, but is there anything else you can think of before I send the final list?” 

Evelyn looked over the list of herbs. The standard healing ingredients were all there, and she was glad to note Cullen’s oakmoss and elderflower were to be well stocked. There really wasn’t anything she could add, except _perhaps…_

Though she kept her expression neutral, Evelyn could feel the heat in her cheeks. She handed the list back to Josephine, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Perhaps we should add a small supply of witherstalk to our stores?” 

“Witherstalk?” Josephine repeated. Evelyn was certain she must be bright red, but her encounter with Cullen after the ball had been a close call - a very much desired close call, but a close call all the same. 

The fact of the matter was, she was a grown woman responsibly deciding that an accidental pregnancy was a risk she couldn’t take right now. It was an entirely respectable precaution, so why couldn’t she stop blushing?

“And more elfroot,” she added, hoping to take the attention away from her original request. 

“Elfroot is what we stock the most of. Is it still not enough?”

“It’s always needed. You can never have too much - someone is always injured around here. The list looks great, just add the witherstalk and the elfroot and send it out.” Even to Evelyn, it sounded unconvincing.

“I’ll send it right away.” To her credit, Josephine pretended to be none the wiser, despite Evelyn being certain her Ambassador was far too intelligent not to know the real reason for her request. Josephine left her then, and Evelyn leaned on the edge of the war table, sighing deeply as she ran a hand through her hair. 

The attraction she felt for Cullen was like nothing she’d ever experienced. It was wild, untamed, every kiss and touch and sigh leaving her hungry for more. Evelyn was certain she was in love with him, but the feeling she had felt when she pulled open his jacket and listened to him moan beneath her touch had been nothing short of white hot lust.

“I need some air,” she muttered, attempting to fan the heat from her cheeks. Perhaps throwing herself into the mountain snow would help.

She passed through the main hall, where servants bustled back and forth in preparation for the arrival of even more diplomats. News of their success at Halamshiral had spread fast, and it now seemed that everyone wished to be in the Inquisition’s good graces. Expensive gifts had already begun pouring in, and a large stack of them was growing in the storage closet within Evelyn’s quarters. 

“I need to have a few words with my publisher,” Varric complained, falling into step beside her as she passed him by. “The first one will be, ‘you,’ and the second one will be ‘bastard.’ They’ve claimed for years my crime serials don’t sell in Orlais. So why am I getting fan mail from the Council of Heralds asking me for autographs?”

“It seems you’ve been lied to, Varric. They’re immensely popular.”

“Read my books, have you?” 

“I’ve read _The Tale of the Champion_ and _Hard in Hightown._ They’re quite good.”

“I’m happy to hear you’ve enjoyed them, Your Inquisitorialness. Just stay away from the romance serial, it isn’t worth your time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” They had made their way down the steps into the yard below. Some soldiers practiced in the sparring ring and messengers raced about. “I’m heading out for Verchiel soon to meet a contact of Sera’s. It’s sure to be an interesting time, to say the least. Care to join us?”

Varric opened his mouth, then closed it again in an uncharacteristic show of sheepishness. 

“You know I’m always ready to take Bianca out for some exercise, but I have some business happening here at Skyhold that I can’t miss. It’s Inquisition business, but I’d rather not share the details until I have everything in order. I know how shady that sounds, but trust me, I have a plan.”

“I… suppose that’s alright. Perhaps you’ll join us next time?” 

“Of course. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a letter to send to my publisher.”

He didn’t wait for a response, instead rushing back up the steps and into the fortress. Evelyn stared after him, far more confused than she had been even in Halamshiral.

***

_Dear Mia,_

_As you may have heard, the Inquisition has returned safely from Halamshiral. You’ll be pleased to know my distaste for social events has not waned over the years, but we completed our job and Evelyn was able to win over the court for the Inquisition, which is all that matters._

_I wanted to let you know that I have chosen to stop taking lyrium. It’s been months since my last dose. Each day it becomes easier, so please don’t worry. Every day without it is a day that separates me from the Order, and so it has been worth it. Skyhold has plenty of fresh air and work to keep me busy. The recruits are coming along, the people are kind, and there is certainly no shortage of good to be done._

_Cullen_

Cullen dropped the quill back in the inkpot and stamped his seal into a pool of hot wax. Evelyn had chastised him upon realizing he had still not responded to the letter his sister had sent before they left for Halamshiral, and so, to avoid further scolding, he wrote his response and handed it off to the nearest messenger.

They had been overwhelmed with work since their return from the Winter Palace, and though it had been less than a week, Evelyn was scheduled to leave Skyhold once again the following morning with Sera, Bull, and Solas to meet the contact in Verchiel. He and Evelyn had had very little time alone. For the most part, they had spent days sifting through reports in the war room, the endless stacks slowly shrinking after hours upon hours of work. 

The mental labor had been exhausting, and Cullen knew he was pushing it. A sickly sheen coated his forehead, which he dabbed with a kerchief (Not Evelyn’s - _that_ kerchief had remained tucked over his heart beneath his armor every day since he received it.) before making his way toward the fortress in search of Evelyn. 

She wasn’t hard to find. Presently, she was seated upon the throne in the same red formalwear from Halamshiral, circlet and all. He blushed in spite of his illness, unable to keep from thinking of their activities the last time he had seen her in the outfit.

“Just another moment, Your Worship. I’ve nearly finished,” the portraitist said. He was a stout Orlesian man with a thick accent, and his clothes, though fine, were covered in paint. 

“That’s quite alright. Take your time.” Evelyn barely moved from her pose as she spoke, a slight flick of her eyes in Cullen’s direction the only sign that she knew he was there.

“I could come back another time…” Cullen began, but Evelyn moved from her position just long enough to insist otherwise.

“No, Commander. Please stay.” Her voice dropped as he moved next to her, returning to the pose she had been in before. “I’ve been sitting here for hours. I could do with a distraction.”

“What is this for?” Cullen asked.

“A gift from the Empress. Josephine was too ecstatic about it to refuse. This isn’t the first time I’ve sat for a portrait. I learned a long time ago to just sit still to make it go faster, but Maker, it takes forever!”

“Let’s see it, then,” Cullen said, ignoring the small protest he felt in his body with every motion. He wandered behind the painter, comparing the canvas to the woman on the throne.

“Her eyes are brighter, more of an ice blue” he said, ignoring Evelyn’s look of warning. He smirked as he continued his critique. He might not know much about art, but of the finer points of Evelyn’s features he considered himself something of an expert. “And her hair falls in softer waves. This looks too straight and rigid. Otherwise…” he studied it again. The painting had Evelyn’s button nose and perfectly captured the strong yet soft lines of her cheekbones and jaw. Even the way the sunlight lit her chestnut hair through the stained glass was right. He caught the eyes of the real woman before him and reddened slightly as they held each other, Cullen still leaned over the shoulder of the portraitist. “...she looks beautiful.”

“I… thank you for your critiques, Commander,” the artist grumbled, but Cullen barely heard him, still lost in the woman before him. 

The portraitist made his corrections and finished his work, and Evelyn was soon upon Cullen, a crease of worry between her brows.

“Are you alright? You look pale.” 

Cullen sighed. He hated that he worried her.

“I’ve been worse.”

“But you’ve also been better.” It wasn’t a question, and there was no fooling her, so he simply agreed.

“I’ve been better,” he admitted. “But you leave for Verchiel tomorrow. I wanted to spend some time with you. I’d hate for this to ruin that.”

“Go back to your loft. I’ll change and be right over.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Cullen, it will be quiet and private. Please let me take care of you.”

How could he say no?

“Alright,” he relented. 

“I’ll be there soon.”

He returned to his office and removed his bulky armor, finding it much more difficult to take off than it had been to put on that morning. A dull ache was building behind his eyes, and he wiped again at his forehead, finding the kerchief much more damp than he had anticipated. Dread set in as he prepared for what was coming, the warning signs all present as he pulled himself up the ladder. 

He dabbed his extracts onto his temples, hoping to stall the headache, but the light from outside was still bothersome. He decided to lay down and close his eyes while he waited. If he was lucky, he might feel better by the time Evelyn arrived.

“Cullen?”

He awoke with a start to find her perched on the edge of his bed. The sun was setting now - he must have been asleep for at least an hour or two.

“I’m sorry,” he said, propping himself on his elbows with some difficulty. “I must have dozed off.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry. Josephine stopped me to take care of some final details for her negotiations with Ferelden and Orlais. It took me far longer to get here than it should have.”

“It’s alright. Don’t be sorry.”

“How are you feeling?” The crease was back, but now she was dressed in simple linens rather than her usual leathers.

“Is there any point in telling you I’m fine and not to worry?”

“No. There isn’t.”

Cullen knew it was going to be a bad night. The sleep may have eased some of the headache, but he had awoken drenched in a cold sweat. He shivered and burned at the same time, and his muscles screamed at the weight of supporting him just to sit up the little that he had. 

“I’m not well,” he sighed. “You don’t need to stay. I’m afraid I won’t make good company.”

“You’re in luck. I make _excellent_ company. I can make up for both of us.”

“Evelyn…”

She shushed him, then set a small basin of cool water at his bedside, along with a cloth, a glass of water, and his oils, then settled herself at the head of his bed. 

Cullen couldn’t bear her seeing him this way - weak, helpless, and shivering violently in a cold sweat - but neither could he bear to send her away. And so he lay there, his head cradled in her lap, and allowed her to tend to him. 

She dabbed at his forehead with a cool, damp cloth, or massaged soothing oils into his temples, or simply stroked his hair, humming quietly all the while. The simple melody was both foreign and familiar, as though heard once in a long forgotten dream. 

“That tune,” Cullen said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. “You... sang it last time. I remember.”

Last time, when he had been so consumed by the withdrawal that he hadn’t even known she was there, but somehow the tune remained in a clouded memory. Evelyn paused her ministrations in momentary surprise before continuing. 

“I did. I didn’t think you even heard.”

“What is it?”

“Just an old Free Marches song. My mother used to sing it when we were ill. I’m not sure why, but it always helped.” She helped him sit up just a bit to swallow a few mouthfuls of water, then settled him into her lap once again. “I suppose it was just to show she cared. Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

 _I love you,_ he thought.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said. 

She was silent for a moment, gently massaging the sore muscles at his neck and shoulders.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to but… How long has it been? Before me, I mean. When was the last time someone held you like this?”

She must have felt him stiffen at the question, because she immediately started to apologize, but the truth was Cullen hadn’t expected her to ask him _that._ And honestly, he wasn’t sure he knew the answer.

“Don’t apologize, it’s just that… I don’t know,” he admitted. “It was probably my mother, back before I joined the Templars.” 

“That’s a long time.”

“Personal relationships haven’t been my strong suit.”

“Cullen, look at me.”

He stared up at her, seemingly upside down from their positioning, her hair falling around the edges of her face as she looked down at him. 

“You deserve this. You deserve every bit of affection you receive and more. If the world didn’t insist that I save it, I could give it to you all the time. For now, I’ll give you all that I can when we’re together. Don’t ever think you don’t deserve someone who cares for you.”

Tears had welled in her eyes, and it was only when he reached up to wipe away hers that he realized they were in his as well. They laughed a bit as they wiped them away from one another, and even in his illness, Cullen felt his heart swell.

 _I love you,_ he thought.

“Stay with me,” he said.

“Always.”

***

“Wait, this is weird,” Sera said as she led them to the drop point. “I was expecting a village or something. The people that leave me stuff don’t trek out to places like this. Give me a city and I’ll give you a tour, but - surprise, surprise - I don’t know stupid woods or ruins… What’s that?”

They drew their weapons at the sound of a snapping stick. Evelyn pointed a dagger toward the man’s throat as Sera nocked an arrow.

“Don’t hurt me!” he cried. “Harmond made me do it!” 

Evelyn sighed. “Right. Things have gone sour. As they do.”

“No! No, it has to go right, or he’ll kill me for the marching! It wasn’t my fault!”

“ _You_ were the one with the rumor out of Verchiel?” Sera spat. “My friend?”

“You’re _her?_ You’re the one he’s waiting for! It’s her! She’s here! Red Jenny!”

He ran, but he didn’t get far before a pair of arrows were lodged in his chest. Evelyn turned, surprised to find they hadn’t come from Sera, but had no time to think on it further. 

Evelyn could hardly even call it a battle. It was over in seconds, Bull having crushed a mercenary in an instant while Sera downed another with her arrows. Evelyn planted her knives into the last of the attackers, and he fell to the ground with a heavy _thud._

“Woah-ho-ho! Hold on! I was _not_ aware the Inquisitor was personally involved! This is a tragic misunderstanding. Let’s all sheath our swords, and we’ll conduct this like business.”

“Don’t believe this pissbag! He started it!”

“Put away the weapons,” Evelyn insisted. “Now.”

Begrudgingly, Sera returned her bow to her back as they all put their weapons away. 

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? We identified the confusion, and we worked past it. I’m Lord Pel Harmond. I do hope, Inquisitor, that you continue to respond to reason. After all, your choice of company is hardly virtuous.” Evelyn disliked the nobleman immediately. He reminded her far too much of the conceited, self-important men her father had tried to marry her off to.

“Frigging user, you are. Another noble prick who punches down!” Sera said. Evelyn couldn’t help but agree. Every word out of his mouth only made her hate him more.

“We’re the same, you and I. Well, that’s overstating it. You are nothing like me. But we both need people.”

“You want to talk now, but Sera is my ally,” Evelyn stated. “You attacked her friends.”

“Come now! You know how much her meddling cost me? Because, apparently, you were complicit. Honestly, previous to this very moment, I thought you’d also been tricked by these Red Jennys. You’re of noble birth, and as Inquisitor, you are more than a peer. I attacked them on behalf of us both.”

“Arse-biscuit!” Sera jeered. 

“Quite.” Harmon wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Inquisitor? Herald, I don’t want to be _your_ enemy. I am barely invested in being _hers_. If you are willing to recognize an opportunity, we could be exceptional partners.”

“A partnership gets me your _enemies._ I need the _territory._ ”

“What are you doing?” Sera screeched. “He’s half the mess in Verchiel!”

“And now his job is recruiting the other. Consider your lands and title requisitioned. You opened the bargaining. Think of your immediate options.” Harmond appeared shocked. Evelyn suspected he was a man unaccustomed to being outplayed.

“Surprising. Disappointing, but also welcome, over the alternative.”

“Won’t be hearing from you again!” Sera jumped up and down and laughed.

“Be sure to return the favor.”

Her companion stuck out her tongue and produced a rather vulgar sound and gesture, then skipped off.

“I should be angry you let him live, but his kind really hate a leash,” Sera said once out of earshot. “I mean, he deserved worse for turning it all bad, but we made out just fine. Good one, you!”

“Risky, but keep it within the Inquisition, and I’ll support you.”

“Even though this puckered around us?”

Evelyn smiled. “Even so.”

“Well… good, then. Right, what do you mean? Because I am really not used to that… acceptance thing you’re doing right there.”

“We’ll have some differences, but I want to be one of your friends.”

Sera eyed her suspiciously, but then grinned, seemingly pleased by the answer. 

“You’re pretty big to be one of my contacts. Important, I mean. Not fat. But alright, Inquisitor. You’re on my good side. We’ll see if it lasts.”

***

“The matter is _urgent_ , Lady Josephine.”

“I am well aware of that, Revered Mother.”

“We will need them to return to Val Royeaux as soon as possible. There are ceremonies - ordinations! Maker’s mercy!”  
  
“That’s quite impossible at the moment. However, I will see to this matter as soon as possible.”

“My Lady Inquisitor! Please, may I have a word with you?”

Evelyn paused before Josephine’s desk, taking in the sight of the adamant Chantry Mother and her increasingly exasperated Ambassador. Though Josephine would never outwardly show it, Evelyn knew the sleight of going above her to the Inquisitor was very much unappreciated. Evelyn nodded to Josephine before addressing the request.

“How may I assist you, Revered Mother?” 

“With the political turmoil put to rest, our minds turn to a single question: the next Divine. We cannot answer it without the Right and Left Hands of Divine Justinia V.”

“I have already told you, Revered Mother, Lady Leliana and Seeker Cassandra cannot be spared from their duties.” Josephine said matter-of-factly.

“But surely with the support of the Empire, the Inquisition will not be harmed by the loss of just two souls?”

“Why do you need Leliana and Cassandra?” Evelyn asked.

“They were Her Holiness’s most trusted advisors. They represent her legacy, her hopes for peace in Thedas. They could rally the grand clerics to follow as no other candidate from the clergy has been able to.”

“Leliana and Cassandra are candidates to become the next Divine? How is that possible?”

“Not yet. But they could be. We need them to be. There is precedent - other times when clerics remained deadlocked, a successor was chosen from outside the clergy. Lady Leliana and Seeker Cassandra were Justinia’s most trusted friends and advisors. Our late Divine is still held in high esteem. To honor her, the grand clerics might support one of them as successor.”

Evelyn shook her head. “These aren’t just any two people. They’re key members of the Inquisition.”

“For the sake of Thedas, we must ask you to make this sacrifice-”

“For the sake of Thedas, they will remain with the Inquisition until we have accomplished our goal, or there may be no Thedas left for the Sunburst Throne to rule over. I believe my Ambassador has already told you such. You will not be receiving a different answer from me.”

They stared at one another in a silent challenge, neither willing to back down, but the cleric seemed to realize she had been overpowered. She opened her mouth to argue, but Josephine placed herself between them, interrupting before she could say another word. She took Evelyn gently by the elbow and excused them, citing Evelyn’s return from Verchiel only a few hours prior and some important business discussions, and led her toward the war room.

“Don’t let her detract from your victory at Halamshiral,” she said once out of earshot. “Now that the political situation has stabilized, we can devote more Inquisition resources to pursuing Corypheus.”

“Good news from your negotiations, then, I hope?” Evelyn asked. They pulled open the heavy wooden doors, finding themselves to be first into the war room. 

“It... was not easy to keep matters from spiraling out of control. King Alistair is no diplomat, after all, and had little patience for the endless fanfare. Thankfully, the Orlesians are uninterested in more war, and we were able to smooth the way toward an eventual peace treaty. The King sent along a sword that once belonged to the Ferelden hero King Calenhad, as thanks for what the Inquisition helped create.”

She gestured toward the war table, upon which sat the sword in question. The craftsmanship was exceptional, and though it was much larger than she had any use for, she could appreciate the skill it must have taken to create.

“It’s an incredible blade. Perhaps we can display it somewhere, as a sign of our goodwill with Ferelden?”

“I’ve already commissioned a display case for the main hall. It should be here next week.”

“You’re always ten steps ahead of me,” Evelyn smiled - a smile which Josephine returned.

“I try. As long as I can stop Cullen from playing with it long enough to get it in the case, I think it’s a fine idea. The temptation to swing it around is too strong, and our Commander can’t seem to help himself.” Evelyn chuckled, trying to picture Cullen’s boyish grin as he tested Calenhad’s sword. 

The door swung wide as he and Leliana arrived, each with a large stack of paperwork in hand. Having only had just enough time to drop off her horse at the stables and bathe since her arrival back at Skyhold, this was the first she’d seen Cullen since she’d returned.

“You’re back,” he beamed. “How was Verchiel? We heard something went wrong.”

“Something _always_ goes wrong. It was nothing I couldn’t handle. We now own half of Verchiel, and should have the other half soon.” She stuck a small Inquisition flag onto the map over the newly claimed territory.

“I can’t believe Sera’s scheme actually paid off,” Cullen said, incredulous.

“It did. Just not quite how we expected.”

“There _is_ other news from my meeting with the Empress,” Josephine said, scrawling something down with a feathered quill. “She has handed the Grand Duchess over to the Inquisition for judgement.”

“Empress Celene has left her fate to me?” Evelyn clarified. Josephine nodded. “Interesting.”

“It’s a good sign. One of goodwill, certainly, and that Orlais will respect the authority of the Inquisition. Currently Florianne is in our dungeons awaiting judgement.”

“Give me a day or so to think of a suitable sentence. I need to be careful with this one.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

They settled into their usual rhythm as of late, sifting through the stacks in an attempt to make any headway in the work. Focus was on restoring some order in Orlais following the end of the civil war. Of particular interest was a letter from the Dowager herself, Lady Mantillon.

“ _My Dear Inquisitor, Evelyn,_ ” Evelyn read aloud, feet crossed and propped up on the edge of the war table. She glanced upward to her advisors and snorted. “On a first name basis now, are we?”

“Nevermind that, what does it say?” Leliana teetered on the back legs of her chair, scout missives in hand. Evelyn continued.

 _“There was no time for us to dance in the Winter Palace, but perhaps I might claim that dance you offered now? You may not be familiar with the allemande. It is the prelude to every great movement in music and in the Game_. _I would be happy to teach you the steps._

 _To begin, the couples form two lines facing one another. South of the Imperial Highway, between Verchiel_ _and Montsimmard_ , _it is the Ylenn Basin. It is a beautiful place of walnut groves, hollyhocks, and fifth-rate meaderies that recently lost its lord to the civil war. On the western edge of Ylenn, the hopeful young Comte de Poisson stands, lining up his little toy soldiers for a quick and quiet invasion. Surely you would not leave the poor boy without a dance partner?_

 _If the Inquisition_ _defends lordless Ylenn Basin, it might perhaps be considered your property. Be mindful of the steps, my dear._

_Cordially,_

_Marquise Mantillon”_

“May I see that?” Josephine asked. Evelyn raised the letter above her head so Josephine could pluck it from her fingertips.

“Would you like troops sent to the basin? It’s rather small. We can easily defend it from an attack.” Cullen moved some stacked paperwork aside and peered over the map.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Josephine said, still standing behind Evelyn with letter in hand. “We can take the dowager's opportunity in a more subtle way if we directly speak to the comte.”

“There’s no need to spill blood over this,” Evelyn agreed. “Our troops will be put to better use restoring order and aiding civilians on the warfront. Josephine can speak with the Comte.” 

“I’ll arrange it right away.”

A knock at the door surprised them, and they all stared toward the source of the sound for a moment before moving. Rarely did anyone disturb them during a war council unless a servant had been requested. Evelyn removed her feet from the table and opened the door. 

“Sorry to intrude on your war council, Your Inquisitorialness, but I have something that might be of interest.” Varric stood in the doorway, occasionally glancing nervously over his shoulder. “You aren’t expecting the Seeker anytime soon, are you?”

“No, Cassandra won’t be joining us today. Would you like to come in?” Evelyn stepped aside to let him pass, then shut the door behind him.

“I sent a message to an old friend. She’s crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he’s doing. She can help.”

“She’s dealt with Corypheus?” Evelyn asked. Varric nodded.

“She has. I think this might be a useful alliance for you.”

“I’m always looking for new allies. Introduce me.”

Varric shifted about and lowered his voice, despite there being no one but the five of them around.

“Parading around might cause a fuss. It would be better for you to meet privately, on the battlements. Trust me - it’s complicated. Meet me up there.”

Without another word he turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

“Any idea who this friend is?” Evelyn asked.

“I know one thing,” Leliana said. “If Varric has brought who I think he has, Cassandra’s going to kill him.” Cullen groaned and buried his face in his hands. Evelyn glanced between them, realization settling in.

“He _wouldn’t..._ Would he?”

Leliana shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

“I should head up there now. We can continue this later. Excuse me.”

No one objected, responded, or moved, so Evelyn headed for the battlements. She took the stairs two at a time, curiosity leading her forward with long, fast strides. It didn’t take her long to locate Varric. He stood by one of the more secluded turrets, a woman in striking red and black armor beside him, a dagger strapped at either hip.

“Inquisitor,” Varric smiled, “Meet Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Though I don’t use that title much anymore.”

So _this_ was the famed Champion of Kirkwall. She stood a bit taller than Evelyn, with deep auburn hair that was cut above the shoulders and a thin scar that crossed her brow. She studied Evelyn just as intently. Sharp emerald eyes looked her over, and she leaned into one hip with her arms folded over her chest. 

“Hawke, the Inquisitor. I figured you might have some friendly advice about Corypheus. You and I did fight him, after all.”

“You’ve already dropped half a mountain on the bastard,” Hawke smirked. “I’m sure anything I can tell you pales in comparison.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You _did_ save a city from a horde of rampaging Qunari.”

The Champion’s grin was lop-sided as she waved the compliment off. “I don’t see how that really applies. Or is there a horde of rampaging Qunari I don’t know about?” 

“There’s _a_ Qunari. He almost qualifies as a horde all by himself. Fortunately, he’s on our side.”

Hawke moved to peer over the edge of the battlements, her steps accompanied by an awkward sort of swagger that somehow seemed to suit her. She leaned upon the stone, a cool mountain breeze ruffling her hair as she took in the surroundings. 

“So, then. What can I tell you?”

“Varric said that you fought Corypheus before?”

“Fought, and killed,” she turned around, leaning casually backward on her elbows. “The Grey Wardens were holding him, and he somehow used his connection to the darkspawn to influence them. Corypheus got into their heads. Messed with their minds. Turned them against each other.”

“If the Wardens have disappeared, they could have fallen under his control again,” Varric added. 

“If that’s what happened to the Wardens, do you think we can free them?” Evelyn asked. 

Hawke shrugged. “It’s possible, but we need to know more first. I’ve got a friend in the Wardens. He was investigating something unrelated for me. His name is Stroud. The last time we spoke, he was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then, nothing.”

“Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks,” Varric said. “Did your friend disappear with them?”

“No. He told me he’d be hiding in an old smuggler’s cave near Crestwood.”

“We found signs of Wardens searching for someone on the Storm Coast,” Evelyn said. “Could they have been searching for your friend?”

“I’m sure of it. That was the last place I know for certain he was.”

It seemed as good a lead as any. Having another person who had already fought Corypheus on their side would be extremely useful, but there was one thing about this that still didn’t make sense to Evelyn.

“If you didn’t know about Corypheus, what were you doing with the Wardens?”

“The Templars in Kirkwall were using a strange form of lyrium. It was red.” Hawke looked downward at Varric, who had grown quiet. “I’d hoped the Wardens could tell me more about it.”

“I’ve had some encounters with it. And Corypheus had Templars with him at Haven. They looked like they had been exposed to the lyrium you describe.”

“Hopefully my friend in the Wardens will know more.”

“I appreciate the help.”

Hawke looked Evelyn in the eye, her brazen swagger gone in an instant.

“I’m doing this as much for myself as for you. Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought I killed him before. This time, I’ll make sure of it.” 

  
  



	21. Rogues’ Night Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you again for your continued support! I know chapter updates have been taking a bit longer, as I've started a new job this year and haven't had as much time on my hands. I hope you enjoy this one! I had lot of fun writing it!

Cullen sat at his desk and stared down at a report, not absorbing any of the words from the page. While he hoped Evelyn would have a moment to visit him, having not had a private moment together since she had returned from Verchiel that morning, the arrival of Varric’s mystery friend had made that possibility rather unlikely. Cullen just hoped it wasn’t who he thought it was.

Surely Varric wasn’t stupid enough to lie to Cassandra’s face and then bring Hawke to Skyhold? More likely it was another of his friends, and if that was the case, then how bad could it really be?

He regretted the question almost instantly.

“Hey there, Curly. Did you miss me?” 

There she was in all her maddening glory, wearing an irritating grin and the same armor Meredith had gifted her upon being named Champion years ago.

“Serah Hawke. What can I do for you?”

“I just came to congratulate you on the big promotion. And the new hair, of course. I’m glad to see you took my advice!” Cullen rolled his eyes, remembering the day she approached him on the streets of Kirkwall for the sole purpose of informing him that he, in her words, “Would look cuter if he did something with his hair.”

Hawke prowled his office, shamelessly examining his belongings. “The scar is a nice addition, too. You’ve got this sexy, rugged thing going on. Seems like it’s working - I heard you’re boning the Inquisitor. Is that weird, with her being the Herald of Andraste and all? I mean, I always figured you’d be into some kinky shit, but damn.” She squatted in front of his bookcase, running her finger across the titles on the bottom shelf.

“I am _not-_ ” he began, but was unable to repeat the word ‘boning,’ without flushing bright red. “It’s not like that.”

“Ah, so the boning part hasn’t started yet. Why not? She’s hot.”

“Aren’t you engaged to the Prince of Starkhaven?” Cullen asked in an attempt to change the subject. She stood, apparently not finding anything of interest.

“I am. He sent a letter for you, actually. Well, not for _you_. For your hot girlfriend.”

“How did you even find out?”

“Did you really think Varric wouldn’t tell me all the best gossip?”

“You’re openly telling me that Varric is leaking Inquisition secrets?”

“If people finding out you and Her Worship are sleeping together is enough to end the Inquisition, I’m afraid you’ve got much bigger problems than me and Varric. Besides, I think it’s good for you! You’ve always been so uptight. I think a little brunette distraction is just what you need.”

“Was there something you needed, Serah? Or have you just come to dissect my personal life?”

To his utter dismay, she plopped herself directly upon his desk.

“Look, Curly. Kirkwall was a shit show. I’m not here to spill all your darkest secrets to your new girlfriend.” Cullen started to reply, but Hawke pressed a finger into his lips. He recoiled and smacked her hand away. “You were trying to do your job,” she continued, unperturbed, “And you probably didn’t realize how fucked everything was until it was too late. The Templars take children and brainwash them. I get that. We both had shit sprung on us. And despite all of the shitty, fucked up things you said to me back in the Gallows, you stood with me in the end. Varric says you’ve changed. A bit late, perhaps, but I’ll take it. And I’d really love it if this wasn’t fucking weird, since it seems like I’ll be helping you for a while.”

Without waiting for a response, she hopped off his desk on her way out the door. Cullen stood, the abrupt motion nearly tipping his chair onto the floor.

“Is she alright? Your sister, I mean?”

Hawke stopped, turning just enough to look back at him. To his relief, the Champion regarded him with the faintest of smiles.

“She’s alive, thanks to you. Aveline mentioned that you helped her smuggle Bethany out of the Free Marches.”

“It was the least I could do. I should’ve acted sooner.”

“On that, we’re agreed. Glad we had this talk. And… thanks. For saving Bethany.”

And then she was gone. Cullen sighed, examining the papers that were now crumpled from where she had sat on them.

He’d been running from his past ever since he left Kirkwall, but now it had burst through his door in a blaze of profanities and red leather armor offering an olive branch he wasn’t certain he trusted. He was prepared to atone for his sins a thousand times over. That much, he had expected. What he couldn’t handle was disappointing _her_ \- the one woman who, by some divine mercy, still believed in him after all they had been through. He thumbed over the coin in his pocket. 

Andraste preserve him.

***

“You knew where Hawke was all along!”

“You’re damn right, I did!”

“You conniving little shit!”

Evelyn bounded up the stairs of the armory accompanied by the sounds of shouting and crashing furniture. She rounded the corner just as Cassandra took a swing at Varric, who ducked and ran around the side of a table.

“You _kidnapped_ me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?”

“Hey, enough!” Evelyn shouted, positioning herself between them.

“You’re taking _his_ side?”

“I said _enough!”_

Cassandra clenched her jaw and glared, but thankfully halted her assault.

“We needed someone to lead this Inquisition. First, Leliana and I searched for the Hero of Ferelden, but she had vanished. Then we looked for Hawke, but she was gone too. We thought it all connected, but _no_. It was just _you,”_ she seethed, jabbing a finger toward Varric. _“You_ kept her from us!”

“The Inquisition _has_ a leader!” Varric countered, gesturing to Evelyn. 

“Hawke was the Champion of Kirkwall! The mages respected her! She would have been at the Conclave! If anyone could have saved Most Holy-”

“Varric is _not_ responsible for what happened at the Conclave.” 

Evelyn’s voice ran frigid. Cassandra had not been there. _No one_ had been there, besides her, that lived to tell the tale. The insinuation that something could have been done with a more competent leader had struck a nerve.

“I was protecting my friend!” 

“Varric is a liar, Inquisitor. A _snake_. Even after the Conclave, when we needed Hawke most, Varric kept her secret.”

“She’s with us now! We’re on the same side!”

“We all know whose side you’re on, Varric! It will never be the Inquisition’s.”

“Attacking him now won’t help us, Cassandra.” The words had a harsh bite, but at the moment Evelyn didn’t care. 

“Ha! Exactly!” 

“And _you_ better not be keeping anything else from us.” Varric’s momentary glee from her support was crushed. He set his jaw, glancing from Evelyn, to Cassandra, and back again. 

“I understand,” he said, crossing his arms. Cassandra leaned heavily upon a table. She looked far more despondent than Evelyn had ever seen her. 

“I must not think of what could have been. We have so much at stake. Go, Varric. Just… just go.”

The dwarf stalked off toward the stairs. He paused at the top, shooting one last rueful glare into Cassandra’s back. 

“You know what I think?” he said. “I think if Hawke had been in that temple, she’d be dead too. You people have done enough to her.” 

The steps creaked as he disappeared. Cassandra sank into the nearest chair. 

“I believed him,” she whispered. “He spun his story for me and I swallowed it. If I’d just explained what was at stake… If I’d just made him _understand…_ But I didn’t, did I? I didn’t explain _why_ we needed Hawke. I’m such a fool.”

Evelyn exhaled, suddenly realizing she had been holding her breath. She picked up one of the toppled chairs and sat herself before the Seeker, offering a half-hearted smile. 

“We’re all fools, Cassandra.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“More at home, maybe.” Despite her downtrodden exterior, Evelyn was sure she sensed the faintest hint of a smile.

“I want you to know I have no regrets. Maybe if we’d found Hawke or the Hero of Ferelden, the Maker wouldn’t have needed to send you. But He did. You’re not what I’d pictured, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know less than nothing.” Cassandra sighed. “And to think, earlier today Mother Giselle asked me to be a candidate for Divine.”

“The fun never ends in Skyhold, does it?”

Cassandra snorted. “‘The Inquisitor was hilarious.’ That’s what they’ll say one day, you watch.”

“Better you than me.”

“A weight such as yours would break the Sunburst Throne and tear the Chantry to pieces. I just don’t know why they believe Leliana or I would be better. Surely it was never meant to be like this - the Chantry, the Circle of Magi, the Templars… this cannot be what they intended when it all began. The Chantry should provide faith. _Hope._ Instead, it cannot veer from its course. Even in the face of certain death.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

“Oh? Am I not the same woman who declared the Inquisition against the Chantry’s wishes? In all my years as a seeker, I did what I was told. My faith demanded it. But now my faith demands something else - that I see with better eyes.”

“Many extraordinary things have happened to get us to this point.”

“I’m not so certain. I think this has been a long time coming.” Cassandra leaned backward in her chair and peered out a nearby window. “Did you know Varric is Andrastian? He blasphemes with every second breath, but deep down, he believes. His heart is virtuous. But he would never step foot in a Chantry. It should be the first place to which the virtuous turn. It needs to change. Perhaps I must be the one to change it.”

“Your newest crusade?” Evelyn asked.

“I’ve agreed to nothing, yet.”

“And if the Chantry calls on you?”

She looked pensive for a moment, quietly sitting in the sunlight from the window. Then she sighed once more and turned her attention back to Evelyn. 

“Then I will do whatever I can, for as long as I can. Though I suppose I should not be so concerned. The clerics speak my name for now - nothing more. For now, restoring order and stopping Corypheus remain our priority.”

“In order to do that, I’m going to need you to stop taking swings at Varric.”

Cassandra grinned, clapping Evelyn on the shoulder as they made their way toward the stairs.

“The dwarf is safe, for now. But if he lies to us again, I’m making no promises.”

***

Evelyn had spent the better part of two days ensuring that Varric didn’t get himself killed. Cassandra had made good on her promise to keep her fists to herself, but the dwarf had a way of antagonizing her that was too acute for his own good. 

She had seen surprisingly little of Hawke since their meeting on the battlements, she thought as she buttoned herself into a red doublet. Josephine had set the Champion up with comfortable guest quarters, and when Evelyn wasn’t keeping him away from the Seeker, Varric could often be found there. Leliana had been following Hawke’s lead and sent scouts to Crestwood, while Cullen had been busy investigating Samson’s whereabouts. The latter knocked on her door just as she finished applying her lipstick. 

He crossed the room and planted a chaste kiss upon her lips, a stack of papers in hand. There had been little time for anything but business in the past days. 

“Any leads?” she asked, eyeing the stack.

“Not yet. But he can’t hide forever. We’ll find his trail sooner or later.”

Cullen was nothing if not dutiful, but ever since Hawke’s arrival he had doubled down on his hunt for Samson. He rarely left his office, and when he did, it was only because Evelyn had personally forced him out. The obsession seemed to run deeper than duty.

“You and Samson seem to have personal history,” she said.

He plopped on her sofa and flipped through the pages in hand. “When I arrived in Kirkwall, Samson and I shared quarters. He seemed a decent man, at first. Knight-Commander Meredith later expelled him from the Order for ‘erratic behavior.’ He ended up begging on Kirkwall’s streets. He committed further crimes, but managed to evade the Order’s justice. Now he serves Corypheus as his loyal general.”

“Why do you think Samson joined Corypheus?” 

“He had a chronic lyrium addiction. He spent every last coin buying it from local smugglers. Perhaps Corypheus flattered his vanity, gave him purpose as well as lyrium? Perhaps that’s all it took.”

“You can’t deny being a general is an improvement to living on the streets.”

Cullen scowled. “I’d rather _die_ than kneel to Corypheus. Clearly Samson felt otherwise. I don’t understand how he became so powerful. Even with red lyrium, Samson’s glory days are long behind him. But _how_ is he evading us?”

He flipped through again, a wrinkle forming between his brows as he searched the documents for any clue he could have missed. Evelyn placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll find him.”

“Yes,” Cullen mused. “We will.” He stood once again and pulled Evelyn into his arms. “How are you feeling? With the judgement, and all?”

Evelyn smiled into his chest, remembering how he had comforted her the first time. It was not unlike this, the two of them alone in her quarters in a warm embrace that left her feeling centered and secure.

“I’m alright. I’m a pro now.”

“So I shouldn’t send the wine and cake, then?”  
  
“Well, let’s not be hasty.” He chuckled at her protest and kissed her on the forehead. 

“Chocolate?”

“You know me so well.”

He nuzzled into her, his stubble tickling the soft, sensitive skin behind her ear. She laughed as he nipped at her earlobe, a playful glint in his eye that she wished she had time to act on.

“Don’t start!” she threatened, but her laughter and smile left little weight behind the words. “I have a duchess to sentence!”

“She’ll still be there in a few minutes.”

“Oh no,” Evelyn tutted. “You won’t fool me that easily. Let’s go, before you convince me to stay.”

She tugged on his arm, nearly undone by his smirk as she led him down the stairs. She was just debating turning around and giving in when she reached the main hall. Many were gathered to witness the fate of Florianne. It seemed their alone time would have to wait. 

She took the throne as Josephine led the Grand Duchess through the hall, bound and accompanied by a pair of Inquisition soldiers. 

“I do not believe a reminder is necessary for this accused. Her capture and disgrace could not have been more public. Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons - although her titles are among the dignities already at risk of forfeiture. You spared her life, despite her treachery. What becomes of it now falls to you.”

Evelyn smiled smugly over steepled fingers. “Out of your element, Florianne? Welcome to the Inquisition. _My_ party.” Florianne scoffed, but said nothing.

“Despite her posture, Lady Florianne _has_ acknowledged your authority.”

“Should I curse you on behalf of the Elder One?” The Grand Duchess asked. “I realize he had no intention of honoring the concordats I manipulated. So as you must. I respect your mastery of The Game even as I despise your victory. Celene does not know her fortune.”

Evelyn stared down at the woman before her. Despite her fall from grace, Florianne was as silver-tongued as ever, her honeyed words landing on the ears like sweet music. While Evelyn wasn’t fooled, she couldn’t deny that Florianne was a master manipulator. More than that - she was _useful_.

Florianne likely had more information about Corypheus than anyone else at Skyhold. While Evelyn _was_ tempted to make her into a court jester, she knew there were more advantageous uses for her skills.

“She remains a creature of formality and opportunity,” she declared. “We have use for both. Grand Duchess, Josephine will see that your wiles profit the Inquisition. Don’t disappoint.”

 _Or you’ll lose your head_ were the unspoken words, but they needn’t be said. Conniving though she may be, Florianne was exceptionally bright. The implication was understood.

“One must remember that The Game is never truly over, Your Worship.”

The guards released her into Josephine’s custody, and Evelyn wondered, not for the first time, whether or not she had made a huge mistake.

***

The sun had set over Skyhold as Evelyn pulled another report from the stack and dipped her quill into the ink pot. She tapped it on the edge to avoid drips, her head resting in her unused hand. She blinked hard as her eyes struggled to read the messily scrawled words in the dim candlelight.

She was surprised to hear a knock on her door at such an hour, and even more surprised to find Varric standing on the other side. Evelyn swallowed her disappointment - she had hoped it would be Cullen. Unfortunately, he was just as buried in work as she.

“Good evening, Your Inquisitorialness.”

“Good evening, Varric. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Actually, I’ve come to help _you.”_ He grinned. Evelyn raised a brow. 

“With what, exactly?”

“Well, I heard a little rumor that a certain member of Ostwick’s nobility used to frequent some of the lowbrow taverns.”

“And where did you hear that?”

“I have my sources.”

“I could go get Cassandra-“

“No! Look, it doesn’t matter. My point is, things between you and Hawke seem a little tense. Now, I know she’s only been here for a few days, and that ever since you returned from Halamshiral you’ve been slammed with work and visiting dignitaries and all that. I just thought it might be nice for the three of us to hit the tavern for a drink. What do you say?”

Evelyn considered the offer. On the one hand, she had a pile of work on her desk that wasn’t going to finish itself. On the other, he was right. All of her interactions with the Champion thus far had been formal and stiff. Getting to know each other better couldn’t hurt. Besides, it had been a long while since she’d had a night off. 

“Alright, Varric. I’m in.”

Hawke was already seated at the bar when they walked into the Herald’s Rest. Varric sat down next to her, and Evelyn settled into the stool on his other side. 

“Well, look what the dwarf dragged in,” Hawke said cheerily, mug in hand. She was dressed more casually today, in a simple blouse and leather breeches. “Your tavern is a little nicer than what I’m used to, Inquisitor, but I suppose it’ll do.”

“Honestly? Me too,” Evelyn confessed. 

Hawke grinned. “Used to slumming it, are you?”

“It’s more fun than the posturing uptown.”

“I think we’ll get along just fine,” Hawke said. “Barkeep! Cabot, right? Let’s get Her Worship a drink.”

“Wine?” he asked, turning his attention to Evelyn while polishing a cup. 

“Whiskey.”

“Neat?”

“Please.”

“So, Your Inquisitorialness,” Varric began as Cabot slid them their drinks, “What were you _really_ doing in those taverns.”

“The same thing you were doing, I suspect.”

“Drunken debauchery?”

Evelyn chuckled. “I had a wild streak after a disagreement with my parents, and it just so happened that my brother was a newly knighted Templar. My parents and I would argue, I’d storm out to the rowdiest Templar gathering I could find, get into some mischief, and win a few rounds of cards. Let’s just say I’m no stranger to cheap ale.”

“And how does one go from partying with commoners to Herald of Andraste? Seems like quite the story,” Hawke asked. 

Evelyn shrugged. “Turns out I was still the best option to send to the Conclave. My parents couldn’t go because my father would be expected to take a stance, and he wanted to see how things went first. My eldest brother is the heir, so they couldn’t send him for the same reason. My sister and my other brother were a chantry sister and a Templar, so they were too directly involved. I was the only one left with no ties to a side. As for how I got _this…”_ She held up the anchor, which glowed a dim green. “Your guess is as good as mine. And what about you? Where did you go after the mages rebelled?”

“I heard the Chantry might be sending an Exalted March to Kirkwall to put down the rebellion,” Hawke explained. “I hoped that leaving would save lives and force the Divine to divide her forces to come after me. As it turned out, I needn’t have bothered. All the circles started rising up, and the Exalted March never came.”

“I heard you had family and friends in Kirkwall. Where are they now?”

“When the Wardens began acting strangely, I had my friend Aveline take my sister out of the Free Marches. Sebastian is the Chantry Advisor in Starkhaven. The throne is still in contention there. Without him, it would be open war among the noble families. He’d have dropped everything to come with me, but he’d have hated himself for it.”

“That sounds like Choir Boy,” Varric said. 

They talked for a while, trading stories of battles and mischief alike, and Evelyn found that she rather liked the Champion. She and Hawke had more in common than she had expected, and her easy sense of humor made for interesting conversation. At some point Varric had even slipped out, leaving them to their own devices. 

“Varric isn’t one for religion in general, but he thinks highly of the Inquisition,” Hawke said once he was gone, a third mug in hand. “I was a little surprised, actually. I think the exact phrase was, ‘Has a good shot at fixing Blondie’s mess.’”

“Anders?” Evelyn asked. “What was he like?”

Hawke gulped down the contents of her mug. “I don’t know if there ever was _just_ an ‘Anders.’ He shared a body with a Spirit of Justice. At the end, it was hard to separate between the two. His cause was just, but his execution…” she trailed off staring into the now empty mug. “He didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. He lied to me to get me to help him. At first, I believed him. But then he asked me to distract the Grand Cleric and wouldn’t tell me why. I knew something was wrong. Throughout our years of friendship, we had always been able to tell one another anything. So, I told him if he couldn’t trust me enough to tell me what he wanted help with, then I couldn’t help him any further. He was angry with me after that. I didn’t find out what he had planned until the Chantry exploded. And the worst part is that I understand why he did it, but when I think of all those people…”

“I know.” And she _did_ know, having seen the slaughter and disaster from inside the Conclave before it was destroyed and every soul lost.

“Before we left Ferelden,” Hawke continued, “Lothering was being attacked by small groups of darkspawn and ransacked by bandits - we were only just north of Ostagar, you see. My sister Bethany used to visit the Chantry now and then. She always wanted to help people. She’s got a kind heart. But anyway, the day before we left, I found her in the Chantry with a group of orphaned children, and around them all sorts of people who had lost everything. Don’t get me wrong, Inquisitor - I think the Chantry, as an institution, is fucked. But the people who seek refuge there aren’t bad people. They’re people with nowhere else to go. Kirkwall had no shortage of those types of people, and when I saw what Anders did, all I could think of was my sister helping the needy back in Lothering. Everything happened so fast and I…” she paused, inhaling deeply through her nose. “I don’t know if I made the right choice. Some days I think I did. Others I’m sure I didn’t. Either way, it’s a pain I have to live with. I’m sure it’s a feeling you’re no stranger to, Your Worship.”

“I feel it every day. You aren’t the only one.” Hawke smiled sadly, then shook her head. 

“Enough of this,” she declared. “We didn’t come here to drown our sorrows. Cabot! Another mug! And another glass for the Inquisitor!”

They stumbled from the tavern a few drinks later feeling far more relaxed than either had in recent memory. Hawke thrust a newly filled flask in the air, halfway through a dramatic retelling of an adventure that Evelyn had hardly been able to follow.

“...so _I_ said, ‘I have an excellent sense of dramatic timing. And good hair!”’ But the Duke didn’t want to admit how funny I was in front of his- Whoa there!” Evelyn giggled as she tripped out the door and grabbed onto Hawke for support, who just barely caught her in her own inebriated condition.

“You _do_ have good hair,” Evelyn agreed as she righted herself. Hawke took a few gulps from the flask, then passed it to her.

“You know who else has good hair? Your Commander.”

“Cullen?”

“You can thank me for that, by the way. Back in Kirkwall I walked up to him one day, and his hair was this…” she snapped her fingers, searching for the word, “...unduly? No. That doesn’t sound right.”

“Unruly?”

“No, that’s not- wait, yes! Unruly! His hair was this unruly mess of curls, so I told him, I said, ‘You know, Curly, you’d look cuter if you did something with your hair!’ And look at that - I was right, as usual.”

“His hair _is_ nice,” Evelyn agreed, passing back the flask. She wasn’t even sure what was in it, just that it felt warm going down. “I can’t help but run my fingers-”

“Alright, Inquisitor! I have a feeling I’m about to find out more than I want to know.”

Evelyn’s eyes twinkled. “Fine. I’ll keep all the sordid details to myself.”

“Oh, no! I’m not letting you trick me into thinking I want to know something I don’t want to know, no matter how badly I want to know it.”

“So you _do_ want to know?”

“Yes. I mean, no! I don’t want to know, but I also don’t _not_ want to know.”

“You don’t not want to know?”

“I _don’t_... What were we even talking about?”

“Hair, I think.”

“Right! I do have excellent hair. And an excellent arm. You’re a rogue, right?” Hawke asked, eyeing the dagger strapped to Evelyn’s hip. “Can you hit that dummy from here?”

Evelyn eyed the dummy in question. It was set up inside the sparring ring, but wasn’t all that far away.

“Pfft! That’s not even a challenge!”

She pulled out her knife and threw it. It hurtled through the air and lodged itself in the fence post.

“I thought it wasn’t a challenge?” Hawke goaded.

“Well, let’s see you do it, then.”

Hawke pulled out her own dagger and tossed it. It went awry as well, crashing through the window of the armory.

“Hey!” a guard yelled.

“Run!”

Hawke grabbed Evelyn by the arm and sprinted down the steps, across the courtyard, and into the stables, where they hid inside an empty stall.

“Is he coming?” Evelyn whispered, peeking over the door. Hawke attempted to shush her, but the sound was far louder than Evelyn’s question had been. “It’s _my_ Inquisition! What’s the worst he could do?”

“Right. Forgot about that.”

“Must be nice. Maybe sometime I’ll forget about it.”

“Are those nugs?”

Hawke peeked into the next stall, where sure enough Leliana’s nugs were playing. They chased each other and scurried about, paying no mind to the Champion peering down at them.

“They’re Leliana’s,” Evelyn explained, joining her drunken companion and pointing over the low wall. “That’s Schmooples II and Boulette. Or... maybe it was Boulette and Schmooples II?”

“What happened to Schmooples I?”

“I was too afraid to ask.”

Hawke hopped gracelessly into the stall. The nugs rubbed appreciatively against her hands as she scratched between their pink ears. She held one up, it’s little feet dangling as she examined it.

“How can anything be so adorable and so ugly at the same time?”

“I don’t know,” Evelyn said. “I’ll ask my brother the next time I see him.”

Hawke was now laying on the floor, nugs climbing on top of her. One tentatively licked at her face.

“I have found true happiness,” she said.

“You’re probably laying in nug shit and you’ve found true happiness?”

“I’ve been elbow deep in wyvern shit before. Anything’s better than that.”

“I’m not even going to ask.”

Evelyn leaned against the stall door, but to her surprise, it wasn’t locked. It swung open under her weight and she tumbled to the ground.

“Dammit! The nugs!”

The creatures bolted from the stables as Evelyn and Hawke clambered to their feet.

“Be free, my naked little friends!”

“No, Hawke! Leliana will kill us!”

“Well, I suppose this isn’t the _first_ time I've been in a chase with someone who was entirely nude. Of course, last time _I_ was the one being chased-”

Evelyn ran from the stables, desperately searching for any sign of Leliana’s nugs. She spotted one across the yard as it scrambled up the steps.

“There! Come on!”

She bounded after it with Hawke on her heels. The creature squealed as it zigzagged just out of reach, just managing to evade capture each time they got close. Hawke dove forward as it ran for a far wall, but it slipped through her fingertips and into a crack in the battlements.

“Shit!” she cursed, brushing herself off. “It’s gone.”

“It can’t be gone!” Evelyn squatted down to see if she could see into the little hole, but it was too dark. She leaned backward into the wall and slid down until she sat in the dirt. “Leliana is going to cut out our tongues. _If_ we’re lucky.”

“In my experience, only a few of the people who threaten to cut out your tongue actually try. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

A sharp squeal caught both of their attention. Evelyn craned her neck to see the face of a beady eyed nug, trapped on the ledge above with no way down.

“Boulette!” Evelyn called, pushing clumsily to her feet. “Or are you Schmooples?”

“Are there stairs that lead there? Or a ladder?”

“No. I don’t even know how it got up there.”

“So how do we get it down?”

It was then that Evelyn’s drunken mind had the greatest idea it had ever had.

“Sera!”

Evelyn rapidly knocked on the door of Sera’s alcove until the disgruntled elf opened up.

“What, you tit? I’m trying to- oh. S’you. What’s this about?”

“We need your help.”

Sera surveyed the scene before her, her eyes traveling over the drunken forms of Evelyn and her companion, then back. 

“Right, then. This oughta be good.”

“Bring your bow.”

They journeyed across the yard - and it _was_ a journey, with two rather inebriated rogues leading the group - toward the armory. 

“We can’t go in there,” Hawke said ducking behind some barrels. She grabbed Evelyn, who cursed as she yanked her down with her.

“And you think they’ll just let me waltz in there?” Sera asked.

“No, but we broke the window.”

“What do you mean, _we?”_ Evelyn asked indignantly.

“And we’re drunk.”

“We _are_ drunk,” Evelyn agreed.

Sera smirked down at them. “I knew I liked you, Inquisitor! Alright. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Sera snuck into the armory, a shadow in the night as she slipped past the few soldiers who remained awake at this hour. Hawke and Evelyn peeked over the ledge of the (now broken) window, but before they knew it Sera had returned with a crossbow and a grappling hook, and Hawke’s dagger.

“Thought this might work better than my bow,” she said, suddenly behind them. They jumped, bumping their heads together as they whipped around.

“Ow! Watch it!”

“ _You_ watch it!”

“And you think one of you idiots is gonna climb the rope?” Sera asked. “I’ll get it. Where is the little nudist?”

They led Sera to the ledge, where sure enough Schmooples II (Or was it Boulette?) was still squealing in terror with no way down. Sera fixed the grappling hook to the end of the crossbow, explaining that she wasn’t “very good with this fancy shite,” all the while. She was good enough, apparently, because after a couple tries, the hook landed true and caught the ledge above.

Sera scaled the wall with little trouble, and soon enough the nug was tucked safely in her pocket on the way back to solid ground. They dropped it off in the stables, very careful this time to bolt the stall door shut.

“That’s one of the little buggers. Where’s the other?” Sera asked. 

“We don’t-” Evelyn started, but a scream erupted from the kitchens that cut her off before she could finish. 

“Schmooples!” Evelyn gasped.

“Boulette!” Hawke said at the same time. 

They raced for the kitchen to find Boulette/Schmooples squealing in fright as the lone servant shrieked. The nug scurried across the counter, tipping a bowl of flour across it and onto the floor, little white paw prints fading across the stone as it ran further into Skyhold. 

The tracks led all the way to the main hall before the light dusting finally faded. They searched the fortress up and down, but even after hours of effort, there was no sign of the missing nug. 

“We have to tell her,” Evelyn said bleakly. 

“Are you mad?” Sera asked. “She’ll kill you.”

“What choice do we have? Poor Schmooples,” Evelyn sniffed.

“Or Boulette,” Hawke added.

They trudged up the steps to the rookery, having decided it best to come clean to Leliana. Their inevitable demise was the only thought on Evelyn’s mind, and a slightly sobering one at that. She breathed deeply, steeling herself for the full wrath of her spymaster, then rounded the corner.

“Leliana, I’m so sorry, but I- _Schmooples!”_

Leliana sat languidly in a high backed chair, her smile smug as she stroked the nug in her lap. 

“I’ve been expecting you.”

“Schmooples, you’re alive!” Evelyn fell to her knees before the spymaster, a tear streaming down her cheek as she stroked the long lost nug.

“My nugs know how to find me, you know. They were never in any danger. A scout found me as soon as you let them out. Still, I thought I’d let you sweat it out a little.”

“Are you saying these morons woke me up for nothing?” Sera complained.

“Not _nothing_.” Leliana handed the nug off to a scout. “The night is young. How about the four of us have ourselves a real party?”

***

“Come in,” Cullen called in response to a sharp knock at his door. Some of his soldiers had reported a break-in overnight in the armory, and so he was busy with a report detailing a broken window and a small amount of missing equipment. Expecting further information, he was surprised to find Josephine now standing in front of his desk.

“Have you seen Evelyn?” she asked. 

“Not yet. It’s still early. She’s probably out on her morning ride. 

“That’s just it - her horse is still in the stables. I looked there first. I thought maybe she’d be with you.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably off working on something.”

“Perhaps. Last I saw her she was having a drink with the Champion-“

Cullen was on his feet and out the door in seconds. Josephine struggled to keep up with his long strides as they crossed the battlements for the fortress.

“Did you check her quarters?” he asked.

“Not yet. She’s normally already out and about by this hour, so I didn’t expect her to be there. I was going to go there next.”

They reached her door in minutes, but a knock received no answer. They looked at one another worriedly, then let themselves in.

“Maker’s breath!”

Whatever Cullen had hoped to find when he and Josephine rounded the final stairs up to Evelyn’s quarters, it hadn’t been to come face to face with a large golden nug. The glittering monstrosity, normally hidden in the underforge like the abomination it was, stared at them with beady eyes. Cullen was just fast enough to catch himself before he ran into it face first, quickly throwing out a hand to stop Josephine from colliding into his back. A few wheels of cheese sat at its wretched little feet like an offering to a shrine. A dagger protruded from one of them. Cullen carefully stepped around it.

The only thing more terrifying than the creature that greeted them was what he found behind. Three daggers - two matching, and one whose mate was stuck in a cheese wheel - were strewn across the floor. An arrow was lodged in the wall, and Cullen’s eyes first found Sera, face down with her bottom in the air, dead asleep on Evelyn’s sofa. In the far corner, Leliana scribbled furiously with a quill at Evelyn’s desk, stroking a real, live nug in her lap with her free hand. The creature sniffed around, poking its head out above the desk to investigate the intrusion and squealed in alarm, but Leliana quickly shushed it by stroking its bald little head. 

Evelyn was curled up with the Champion on her bed, her backside pressed firmly into Hawke’s front. They laid on top of Evelyn’s bedding, all still in yesterday’s clothes. Evelyn was missing a boot - which Cullen found discarded on the balcony - and Hawke had an arm around Evelyn’s waist, her loud snoring carrying through the room.

“What in Andraste’s name happened last night?” Cullen demanded from Leliana, who was still scribbling. 

“Shh! You’ll wake them! I’m trying to sketch them before they move. Varric will get a kick out of this.”

It was too late. The women stirred (except Sera, who drooled onto a decorative pillow). Evelyn squinted and clamped a hand over her eyes.

“Shit,” she groaned as the sunlight poured in from the stained glass. Hawke pulled back Evelyn’s hair and leaned into her ear.

“Rise and shine, Your Worship!” she teased. Evelyn swatted at her bedmate, but missed. Gingerly she looked from Hawke, to Sera, to Cullen and Josephine before rolling onto her stomach and shoving her face unceremoniously into her pillow. 

“Oh, come now, Inquisitor! It’s not so bad!”

“Fuck off, Hawke.” The words were muffled, but the sentiment was clear. 

“Dare I ask whose smallclothes have been pinned up outside the Chantry?” Josephine asked. Evelyn raised her head just enough to share a confused look with Hawke. The Champion peeked into her own breeches to check.

“Not mine,” she said. Josephine sighed.

“Maker, have mercy.” 

“Did we do that?” Evelyn asked.

“ _Someone_ did,” Josephine confirmed. “Someone who had a little too much fun last night. Leliana-”

But Evelyn’s desk chair was now empty. Leliana had disappeared, along with the sketch and the nug.

“ _Did_ we do that?” Hawke asked, ignoring Josephine entirely. “Last I remember, we broke the window of the armory and then chased after some nugs.”

“That was _you?”_ Cullen asked. He wasn’t sure whether he should be irritated or relieved, so he settled for a bit of both. 

“Ow.” Evelyn groaned, burying her face once again in her bedding. Cullen sighed, then poured two tall glasses of water from a pitcher on Evelyn’s table. The first he handed to Hawke, and the second he brought to Evelyn’s bedside. He crouched next to her and tenderly stroked her hair.

“How much did she have to drink?” he asked Hawke, sensing Evelyn was in no mood for conversation.

“I lost count after her third glass.”

“Glass of what?”

“Whiskey.”

“Maker’s breath.”

“Seems our dear Inquisitor took it worse than I did.” 

“I can see that.”

While Hawke’s condition appeared better than Evelyn’s, she was far from unaffected. She squinted at the light and her movements were slow and slightly disoriented. Regardless, she gulped down her glass and retrieved her daggers. 

“I think you’ve got this from here,” she said, taking in the sheer chaos of the room around her. “I’ll be in my room.”

Without further explanation, she descended from Evelyn’s room with clunky steps and disappeared, leaving the four of them behind in Evelyn’s quarters. 

“We’ve got dignitaries arriving _today._ This is a disaster!” Josephine exclaimed, looking even more panicked than she had in Halamshiral. 

“You can prepare for their arrival,” Cullen said. “I’ll take care of her.”

“Are you certain?”

“I’ve got it. Perhaps you could escort Sera back to her room?”

Josephine woke Sera, who grumbled something unintelligible but surely crass as she followed the Ambassador out with little trouble. 

Cullen rummaged through the case in which he knew Evelyn kept a small stock medicines. Most had been given to her by Solas in case the anchor troubled her, but among them were some standard oils that he was certain would be useful. 

_Elfroot… lavender… witherstalk…_

He stopped, staring at the bottle in hand. It was larger than some of the others in order to hold multiple doses, but it was half empty. 

A contraceptive? If she’d been taking this, did that mean...?

Cullen was suddenly very thankful that his back was to her as he grabbed what he needed and shut the case. Swallowing his indecent thoughts, he returned to her bedside with oils in hand. The familiar scent of oakmoss coated his fingertips as he massaged circles into her temples.

“Better?” he asked.

“A little. Can you hand me my glass?”

He passed her the water, which she sipped gratefully. Cullen pulled back her blankets and removed her other boot, gently guiding her into the downy bedding. 

“Drink that whole glass, and then sleep for a while. I’ll have some breakfast sent up when you wake. That should help you feel a little better.”

“Thank you.”

He kissed her forehead, then stood to go, a smile crossing his face as a thought stopped him at the top of the stairs.

“Evelyn?”

“Hm?”

“Did you have fun?”

Her smile was more of a grimace as she drew the curtains around her bed.

“Too much fun for one night, I think.”

Cullen chuckled to himself, then quietly shut the door behind him.

  
  



End file.
